Mandi Pugh

Waiting game

2011-06-27T20:04:00.001+10:00

THESE kids of our are growing huge! I'm not sure whether it's the sunshine or the sport that's making them sprout up but sprouting up they are.

We have a couple of visitors scheduled to land on our doorstep over the next few months and I'm sure they won't believe their eyes as to how much they've grown. My 11-year-old now measures in at a whopping 5ft 7in - whopping for an 11-year-old!

He obviously has his mother's genes - who continues to have trouble getting trousers long enough. Although I did discover last week that my much missed and beloved Next store now delivers Down Under for $7.95. A small price to pay for something I miss so badly. It was MY store. A store where I knew I'd get sorted with whatever I needed. And it's sorely missed.

But to be honest, I don't have any time to shop. My days and nights are filled with work, social times with friends and the continual refubishment of this gaff. Every day we get a little closer to the conversion of an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan.

There's not enough time in the days though to get this operation underway and converted the way I'd like it. Poor long suffering husband gets up each morning at 5am for his work and has to re-start when he gets home doing the DIY he has become so good at. And I have gotten used to.

I want this and this and this and that... and I don't want it tomorrow. I want it NOW. I want an extra bedroom and I want it NOW. I want a big kitchen and I want it NOW. I want a massive fridge with an ice machine and filtered chilled water dispenser and I want it NOW!

I just have to remain a little patient and keep chipping away at the project we have on our hands. We have a fibreglas swimming pool sitting on the back garden like a randomly landed UFO just waiting to be installed and it's solar powered heating sits in the back of my car until such time as the 12x4m hole gets dug.

But we have plenty of time on our hands I suppose to get these things done. Good things come to those who wait, eh??

Working girl

2011-05-31T21:58:00.002+10:00

THIS past month has seen aplenty. I was offered a new desk job out of the blue that now sees me working two jobs totalling a 40hr+ week. And I'm exhausted.

Not a lover of things that change, I'm not doing too bad in my acceptance. Although I'd rest a little easier if I could shed a few of those forty hours to spend time organising home life as I see fit.

The boys are getting to the stage where they need to be here, there and everywhere for sports events and training and socialising ... and even the school pick up now we live more than an ample stone's throw away from the school gates.

So to fill my working week, I work two days being part of a busy team at a pest control company working a desk job to rid the peninsula of its eebie-jeebies. And there's plenty of them by my reckoning. Not that I've actually seen any yet but they're definitely out there - as the office records show.

And for four days - two full and two in part - I rock up as a receptionist at a local and groovy hair salon. My bosses - an extremely successful businesswoman and her extremely hard-working husband - are just gorgeous. They treat me like a princess and ooze a nature that I warmed to in seconds.

In the early days, I must admit to feeling a tad jaded that the job wasn't for me and felt an uneasiness that came with the role of 'looking after' a well established group of young female hair stylists and what they were all about ... but the marital management team gave me the gusto to get on with it and gets things under my wing.

So after unexpectedly landing myself all this extra work, some girlfriends suggested we escape the Melbourne winter for a four night stay on the Gold Coast to celebrate the 40th birthdays of two of the girls. From which we've just returned.

Six of us boarded the jet for a quickie two hour flight north, met by a stretch limo and pinstriped driver. Champers on the way to our new temporary home was served up while we giggled like teenagers on their way to a Blue Light disco.

Our 33rd floor apartment took in oceanic views and throughout our stay at Surfers Paradise, we laughed and talked and drank and chilled. Peppered with the odd bit of goldfish racing, we came to the end of our stay and headed back to our husbands and families.

Now it's back to reality and the 40hr+ working weeks that put us in the commanding position to be able to live this lifestyle we're living. And loving...

Testing times

2011-05-01T19:42:00.002+10:00

EASTER came and went for another year for the Pughs on the peninsula. It mirrored past years - chocolate eggs, meeting friends, school holidays, visits from a certain long-eared and whiskered mammal.
But one thing was different this year - after youngest son stood on a discarded open rusty tin can lid - in typically Australian barefoot style.

We spent a few days over the five day Easter break with friends on a campsite two hours' drive away from home. The jetskis were out, as was their boat, and the kids were loving the campfire style life. I was determined this camping trip not to be dubbed the one who took too much stuff that's never used so I packed simply this time. Just one change of clothes and a toothbrush each. Too easy.

Although I did regret this minimalist style of living when I saw the 2 inch laceration to the underside of my boy's left foot. Begging, stealing and borrowing teatowels and anything I could get my hands on to stop the blood flow, we left the
camping commune and set off in search of some sterile solution and stitches.

Sure enough, we stumbled across a hospital and were seen by the triage who put the boy in a wheelchair and a line of priority. Two hours later, we were called and a bed was found for the little fella. After a few goes to get anaesthetic
into his foot we decided it best to send him to la-la land and have a little sleep while he got fixed up.

It took longer for him to come round than it did the whole stitching up process - but not without a few giggles. He was telling us all about his dream as a fish and he regressed to being a two year old with his mannerisms and jokes. Little
did we know that seeing him there with a drip in his arm and an oxygen mask over his face was going to be such a familiar sight over the week that followed.

He was re-admitted to hospital with an infection and set up on the children's ward with intravenous antibiotics every four hours for three days.

After surgery number three and a heap of morphine, he was discharged at dinnertime on Friday and we arrived home just in time to see the Royal wedding live on TV. The media coverage of the event has been massive over here and to be honest, I haven't really paid that much attention to it all.

But when the big day came, I got all patriotic and watched with interest. If the little fella would have stayed in again that night, I would have been sharing the parent's overnight room with the mother of my boy's room mate - it turns out both of us have each worked - at different times - under the leadership of the same editor back in the UK.

It's amazing how far you can travel and have so much in common with total strangers so we've exchanged numbers and will have another trip down memory lane in a few weeks - when our boys are on the mend and ready to kick a football around again. And that day can't come soon enough...

Proud moment

2011-03-30T20:34:00.001+11:00

IT was a proud moment for me last weekend - for one, our eldest was chosen as part of a school rugby team to play in the interval of a national game in Melbourne.

We set off citybound in the sunshine and met up with other parents outside the AAMI Park stadium - one of the newest additions to Melbourne's sporting arenas, opened last May.
Being home ground to the NRL's Melbourne Storm team, the arena was the venue for our Saturday night of pre-show entertainment, sporting hi-jinx and welcome return of the Storm team after a suspension saw them off the field last season.

After a salary cap breach, NRL chief exec, David Gallop, stripped the Melbourne Storm of their 2007 and 2009 premierships and their 2006, 2007 and 2008 minor premierships, fined them an Australian sporting record $1,689,000, deducted all eight premiership points they had already received in the 2010 season, and barred them from receiving premiership points for the rest of the season.

So their return game was a biggie and seeing one of our two sons out there, in the middle of the turf, chucking a rugger ball to his fellow team-mates was the absolute highlight for us.
His 15 minutes of fame was a little shortlived but it was long enough for me to receive a text from a friend watching the game at home back on the peninsula who asked where we were. She and her family were watching the game on TV and spotted our boy on the field during half time.

But the second proud moment for me was standing up and singing the Australian National Anthem with the other 14 and half thousand people alongside us.
Belting out the words 'Beneath our radiant Southern Cross, we'll toll with hearts and hands, to make this Commonwealth of ours renowned of all the lands. For those who've come across the seas we've boundless plains to share, with courage let us all combine to advance Australia fair...' is always a spine tingler for me - be it during school assemblies or major sporting events.

With a patriotic hand on heart, I'm looking forward to seeing off the next two years Down Under so we can then apply for Citizenship of this beautiful land... by which time our house will have been totally renovated and I can sit back, relax and count my many, many blessings.

What a co-incidence...

2011-02-28T19:56:00.001+11:00

WHAT a surprise I got out shopping the other week, when I stumbled across a lass who would've been a relative neighbour - had we both been in our original home towns.

In the middle of my local shopping centre, I was stopped by a young guy who was doing some promo work for the Australian Red Cross. He commented on my smile (that I HAD one) and from chatting a-while, we discovered we had something in common - we were Poms.

Upon further investigation, he discovered I was from North Wales - as was his nowhere to be seen colleague. He looked desperately around the centre in search of her to bring her over to meet me but I was keen to shop and said I'd drop by on the way out.

All eyes were on me as I sauntered out of the store some 20 minutes later and I was thrown into the clutches of the promo team. I thought it was just a ploy to get me to sign up to spending $25 a month with them, but I was wrong.

I was introduced to a lively young thing who, indeed, shared the same geographical UK home area to me. I was from Buckley, she was from Llanferres. I worked at the Evening Leader. So did she...

At this point, eyes widened and it was unearthed I've worked in the same office as her stepfather for many years! She knows the same people I do. I know the pub that was her local. We spent a good 20 minutes reminiscing our past - so much so
I invited her round to ours the following night for a real catch up.

What a co-incidence that I can be handpicked out from the crowd from the middle of a shopping mall in Mornington and stumble across a chance meeting like this.

She now has gone further afield with her work and said she'd give me a call if she was re-visiting the area. My phone will be waiting for the call and my wine cooler will be stocked up ready...

.... and relax

2011-01-28T09:52:00.001+11:00

THE Queensland flood tragedies are reminiscent of our early days in Australia. Although our tragic circumstances were fires, it's been widespread news that floods can do equally as much, if not more, damage to the communities they hit. And hit hard.

And the same way Ozzies north and south rallied around to raise cash for Victoria's bushfire victims almost two years ago, it's now time to send dollars up north for those affected by the torrential floods that have destroyed lives, homes, crops and incomes.

The weather these days is, as my boys say, "freaky." Hearing stories from UK over the past few weeks and how minus 20 is having to be endured, I can only shudder at the thought of bearing those temperatures. Never, in my 40 odd years in the UK, can I remember jaw dropping temps like that. I remember moaning a few months ago, in the height of winter here, how cold it was and how I longed for summer days. But a winter's day of 7C is nothing to be a whingeing Pom about and it seems now, I have nothing to complain about.

We're now in the height of summer down here in Melbourne although we've been getting temperatures of 28C, overcast and a bit gloomy. But today, after work, we met friends down at the beach and watched the boys dabble with their snorkels while we watched from the shore with a beer. Sunday is promising a 40-degreer so I envisage nipping down to the sea as soon as I finish my 7am-3pm shift after spending most of the day in the air con at work.

But before I do that, I have to transport youngest son half way round the state to take part in a basketball tournament. From Friday night, the wee fella is down to play seven games before the end of play on Sunday. I've just finished finalising a car share with another little player's mum and I think we have it sorted. Not that I'm exactly looking forward to cruising up and down the freeways in search of sport stadiums all weekend. But I have to remind myself that this reason is one of the many why we decided on moving out here anyway.

Sport features highly on the kids' activity lists these days and I'm glad. I'm also glad we have fantastic beaches and scenery right on our very doorstep that's accessible as soon as we're done with our running around. It makes it all very, very worthwhile...

Christmas wishes

2010-12-20T22:33:00.001+11:00

EARLIER this week, I was dazzled as the sun hit a 'Santa Stop Here' sign that almost sent me off the road.

It's bizarre the way Aussies insist on putting up their exterior Christmas lights throughout this summer festive season. By the time it goes dark enough to switch them off, it's time for bed. But this year, it feels a lot more like Christmas.

I was a tad disappointed last year - there were no festive songs in the shops. There were no festive songs on the radio. In fact, Christmas Day could have come and gone without me noticing it - only for the children giving us a daily reminder on how many hours left they had to wait before Santa's visit.

This year, however, it's different. The lead up to the main event is still a little downsized compared to what we know from our times in the UK but I'm not sure whether it's me getting used to things or if everyone has cranked up a gear into getting into the spirit of things.

Either way, I'm happy. And if husband manages to get hold of a CD that features "Fairytale of New York" by The Pogues, he'll be smiling too. Christmas just aint Christmas without the bittersweet and harsh lyrics of Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl.

So all that it remains for me to say is a big massive "Happy Christmas" and a Happy Aussie New Year from us Down Under. I promise not to feed the Big Fella too much Sherry seeing as though he comes here first... can't having him falling off his sleigh before his journey north now, can we??!

Sunshine n Sleigh Bells

2010-12-20T22:30:00.002+11:00

IT'S getting easier, this Christmas in the sun thing. No more do I enjoy a 'cool yule'.

And I've been getting some funny looks this arvo, as I drive to work in my Ute with the windows down and the sounds of Wizzard blasting out from the stereo. As Roy Wood croons out how he wishes it could be Christmas every day, I feel as if it is.

I love living on the peninsula. Every day I have to remind myself how lucky we are to have been given the opportunity to move out here. The bay views. The colourful and quirky beach huts. The social life. Oh my word. The social life. I'm craving a quiet night in but in the days leading upto the main event, it aint going to happen.

I'm working shifts galore with start times varying from 7am on Sunday mornings right through to midweek lates that see me get home at 10.45pm. The early rising on weekend morns plays absolute havoc with my alcohol intake the night before, as in not enough, and the late finishes mean I miss out on any social events that have been planned.

I really have to get myself sorted with a more family friendly job. Husband seems to think I'd be better off full time in an office job than having two part time jobs with the obscure hours that one of them attracts.

I've come round to his way of thinking so am on the lookout for such like. But am in no immediate hurry, I'll just bide my time until the perfect little number presents itself to me. Maybe I'll get the winning scratchie on Christmas morning and won't have to worry about meeting the mortgage repayments ever again but for now, on the lookout I am.

Getting in the mood

2010-11-28T20:41:00.000+11:00

I WAS happy at the weekend. To be shopping to the sounds of Christmas jingles and festive choruses. This time last year, the build up to Christmas was .... er.... none. And Christmas Day was like any other. It could've passed unnoticed, like any other.

You see, I'm particularly used to the cold weather, the dark nights and the constant festive tunes that emanate over the airwaves. But here, Down Under, you just don't get that. I've even invested in a Christmas CD to try and get me into the spirit but when it's 34C outside, you just don't fancy jiving along to 'Rocking Around the Christmas Tree' that's for sure. You just want to crack open another tinny and lie in the hammock til the sun goes down and the mosquitos get their fill of you.

In order to get a bit more cash to save up for the festive spirit, I've taken a second job. In addition to my thrice-weekly shifts at the hot springs, I now do two days a week homecare for Australian's seniors. Or those who just need a bit of a post-operative helping hand after a spell in hospital.

I take on three a day, each at 90 minute stints, when I'll travel to people in their homes and give them the assistance they need. Some need their washing hanging out, some need help to make their beds. Most need the vacuuming doing and they all like to have their kitchen floors mopped over. For some clients, I go out with their shopping lists and pick up their weekly groceries and even manage to grab a few 'must haves' for myself while I'm out and getting paid for it. Bonus.

These people are so appreciative, it hurts when I leave them. They force feed me their pumpkin scones and weak coffee and like to hear about where I'm from. They want to know all there is about why we moved to Australia and how we were enjoying it. They love it when I tell them that visiting them is one of the highlights of living here. But to be honest, it is. These people are awesome. After 90 minutes, I feel like they're part of the family and visiting them is what I would have normally done anyway.

But as summer beckons, I'm not sure how I'll cope with vacuuming someone's gaff while they have the heating on full pelt. They feel the cold do my little old ladies and it'll take me all of my pre-existing persuasive powers to get them to crank it down a notch so I can get through their domesticities without passing out.

So tomorrow, I'm off again to vaccuum around the gold shoes and matching cardi's - all laid out and ready for the senior's Christmas parties they're getting off to over the weeks that follow. They look forward to seeing me and I look forward to seeing them. It makes the job all the more worthwhile to know you're appreciated.

Language barrier

2010-10-25T20:49:00.001+11:00

SO it seems I'm in No Mans Land when it comes to my dialect these days. When I call UK, everyone comments on how Aussie I now sound. But to my Australian counterparts, I sound as Pommy as they come.

One guest came to work who was visiting on a 12-month visa from the UK and he had my accent pinpointed pretty much square on. He stuck Ruthin/Wrexham/Southport on my dulcet tones and to give him his Yorkshire due, he wasn't at all far from the target.

Youngest son sounds like he's lived here for all of his 8 years and the eldest - at the ripe old age of 11 - is slowly getting twanged up with his 'arrrsam' (awesome) and 'sammer' (summer).

Shopping trips can be tricky affairs too. When I need help in locating the butter, I'm shown to the aisle selling batter and a Geordie friend who once asked for bacon saw him escorted to the liquor section for a can of beer (you have to say it out loud to appreciate that one!)

I almost needed an interpreter in work after an incident that happened a few weeks ago.
Some guests were booked in for treatments and were running late because the freeway had been closed off by police after an incident of danger.

So being of an informative nature, I advised all those guests leaving the springs to consider an alternative route home avoiding the freeway. Most took the information on board with an acknowledging nod and appreciative thanks. But one Aussie bloke clearly couldn't understand a word I was mouthing ... "Hi guys, if you were thinking of heading home on the freeway tonight, you'll have to find another route - it's been closed off by police because there's a gunman on the loose."

"A what?" came the reply. So I spoke a bit slower, as you do... "A gunman... on the loose."

Deja vu presented itself with: "A what??" "A gunman..... a man with a gun???"
"Ahhh...... a garnmin" !!!

My Aussie work colleagues found this tale highly amusing and it wasn't long before they knew I can take a joke. I'm constantly jibed and poked fun at by them with my Pommy ways and anecdotes but it's all in good fun.

It's not good fun, however, when I hear customers on the other side of the reception desk mimick me under their breath to their friends.
Working in tourism obviously throws all types of personalities at me. Most are great but there's always a few that can't stop themselves from complaining and moaning and griping. This is the ugly side to working in a place like this and I'm sure I'm not the only person to have to put up with it.

But a minority of small minded Bruce's won't stop me from 'livin' the dream...'

Grand final day celebrations loom... but only if the painting's finished

2010-09-22T20:52:00.002+10:00

Into September and into better weather.... marginally.

I've really felt the cold this winter. The houses here aren't as well equipped for the cooler temperatures than those in UK. Double glazing is virtually unheard of and those who are lucky enough to have it, have either sold a kidney to be able to afford it or have bought property with it already in situ.

We've borrowed a few portable heaters from friends and have had the air con system in our bedroom on reverse but getting the boys out of bed and up for school is no mean feat when it's been on the chilly side.

The house renovations - newly dubbed Operation Ugly Duckling - are coming on nicely. Too slowly for me, but nicely enough. This time in four years we'll be straight - just in time for us to have been here long enough to be eligible to apply for Citizenship of the country.

We have just converted an existing car port into a bedroom. Then we will move eldest son out of his bedroom and into that one. His former bedroom will become my kitchen after two walls have been knocked to the ground. The current kitchen will become his eventual bedroom after we've all had a go at 'musical rooms'. Only the tune to this version of the game is the resonating sound of a drill, woodsaw and a sledgehammer.
Add onto that, the installation of a replacement car port and a whole heap of other work and we'll be done.

I've spent the best part of this week's days off painting guttering and keeping the kids entertained as they've embarked on another two week break from school. It's still a bit on the chilly side for beach trips and the sun is a long time coming back to us.

Locals tell us that they've always remembered watching the AFL grand final from the coolness of their backyard pools - but this weekend's forecast gives a best of a measly 20C. That wouldn't get me in the water for no-one, no matter if our team wins or not.

In fact, the last time I set eyes on the players from our fave team, Collingwood, I was bathing with them all on my day off at the springs a few weeks ago as they relaxed on a weekend of male bonding before the big game... and I only get in these pools because they are naturally heated to 50C and cooled down for spa guests to between 37-42C.

Maybe it's just as well I'm at work on grand final day, out of the way of cool pools, and able to take advantage of the warmed up geothermal pools and my birthday gift from the management - a massage of my choice.

Us day spa girls get so spoilt....

Blue

2010-08-23T10:04:00.002+10:00

THE past three weeks have been a little odd for me. Now 18 months in, and at the height of winter, I've been feeling a tad under the weather.

I suppose the combination of missing out on 'bezzie's' birthdays and lack of thermometer-busting weather, I've had time to take stock of what cards have been dealt for me. I can usually shake off any home-sickness with wall to wall episodes of Corrie, the Royle Family and 15 to 1 but not even the cringetastic comments from Ann Robinson are cutting the mustard these days.

These feelings, I'm constantly being told, are totally natural and I'd say 98 per cent of the time, I'm happy. But that piffling two per cent of unsurity kicks in now and then. And I don't like it when it does. I get unsettled and emotional and no amount of winery tours or jetski rides or beachside barbecues can shake off my grey cloud.

The last few times I've called 'home', I've been passed around like a hot potato. Having a bit of chit chat with dad, then mum, then bro and over to whoever else is around at the time. But I miss calling round there and watching a bit of TV with them and filling in the advert break with conversational bits and bobs that depicted our day.

The more time I spend here though, the more I know how much I belong here. I was born to live in Australia - with its casual way of life and laid back approach. I love the atmosphere and the people and my new friends, But there's no replacing the loved ones I left behind when we boarded that winged Boeing for 21 hours back in February 2009.

It won't be long before winter is behind us and I can get outside and stuck into the jobs that husband has put on my 'To Do' list. The daffs have sprung up alongside the snowdrops so it's a sure sign that spring is on its way.

Yesterday, we tackled tidying up the back garden, which, after last time, I refused to do with a Flymo that simply isn't upto the job. Husband acquired a petrol mower and tamed the back yard beast in just under three hours. Not a huge fan of horticulture, I want to be sitting in the garden, not working on it.

When phase 3 of conversion work here is up though, in about two years, I'm hoping most of the green stuff will be replaced with the pool that the boys long for. Yes. I think I'll much prefer looking out to blue hues from the comfort of my hammock but there's a whole heap of work that needs to be done first.

Good things come to she who waits...

Behind the scenes

2010-08-11T14:28:00.001+10:00

JUST over a month in at job number whatever, I'm getting to grips with what goes on behind the scenes at a tourist attraction.

Being open from 7.30am until 10pm every day of the year except Christmas Day, there's a whole load of human traffic that floats in and out of Peninsula Hot Springs.
I've seen singers, actresses and TV presenters soak up the sulphur while they take a dip in the geo-thermal natural mineral waters with a production crew and big grey fluffy microphone for company.

The thing is I wouldn't know a famous singer, actress or TV presenter from Adam ... unless they were Kylie Minogue, Dame Edna or one of the Wiggles.
I'm still very unfamiliar with Australian celebs from the news desks and game shows of the regular television channels and continue to treat all our visitors with the same meet and greet regime I've adopted. They all get a smile and a bit of banter from me, regardless of their background and celebrity status.

Due in soon is a team of AFL footie players who have booked out one whole section for the day. Friends have armed me with autograph books to take in on that shift but I doubt I'll get to rub shoulders with any of them. Every therapist we have is on standby too, as they're all booked in for massages, but I really don't think it's good office practice to be hovering with a pen and a pad while they lie starkers, face down, getting rubbed down by my colleagues.

As with all places in the public eye, there are unfortunate mishaps. We advise all our guests to keep hydrated and make sure they come out of the naturally heated 37-42C water at 15 minute intervals. Some take heed. Some don't.
Only last weekend, a guest spent more time than he should have in one of the pools and fainted as he climbed out, resulting in knocking himself out on a nearby rock and a subsequent ride in an ambulance.

Another unfortunate incident on one of my shifts was a guest who got himself locked in a changing room for 40 minutes. The hotsprings-hostage was eventually released after staff took the door off the hinges and got him out.
Although a little weary, the disgruntled guest still had the energy to try and negotiate a top of the range therapy package for a return trip. If the experience was as unpleasant as he was making out, surely a return visit would be the last thing on his wishlist...?

My Pommie accent is regularly picked up on and during each shift, I would say about half of the guests ask me where about in England I'm from. They appear shocked when I say I'm Welsh - but that's probably down the the strange accent I now have.

Predominantly Pommie with a good strong Scouse twang, this is interpersed with a bit of Southern Hemisphere slang and tone. I was asked the other day to do a Cockney accent, but failed dismally as it came out all Aussie.

I have evolved into an internationally dialected mongrel ... no wonder no-one can work out where I'm from!

Here we go again...

2010-06-23T09:45:00.002+10:00

SO a week after me being laid off from my job at the nursing agency, I land one working at a local tourist attraction.

I'm a firm believer of being in the right place at the right time and this has, so far, paid off. I was laid off in the cull of company cutbacks on the Monday night, sent a random email to a company where I thought I might like to work that night, had a call from them on the Tuesday, interviewed on the Friday, offered a job on the Monday and was on their payroll come the Thursday.

And what a place this is to work. This is the place I've promised all my visitors I'd take them to. And that was before I became one of their many employees. It's a natural hot springs centre and people come from far and wide to sample the therapeutic benefits of its mineralised and naturally heated waters.

I was offered the chance to sample one for myself after clocking off last week. I wasn't too sure about accepting the invitation seeing as though I had no bathers with me but in one of their 'private baths' that's exactly what you don't need. So after some gentle persuasion - in the form of a colleague throwing a company towel at me with a smirk on their face - I was shown to my bath after a short walk through the tea trees along the subtly lit pathways and into a brushed fence area away from life's hustle and bustle.

In the dim light, I was left alone to bathe in the 40C waters but that was after I'd checked out the place for hidden security cameras. T'was a strange feeling being there - outside - alone - in the dark - getting naked and close to nature. I wanted someone with me to giggle with but after I'd gotten over the shock of it all, in I went.

Looking up to the moon through the Eucalyptus trees above me while the birds chirped away, I just couldn't stop thinking about how this seemed like a prank. "The new girl's gone naked in the private pool, guys" I imagined them chortling back in the control room and when my time was up, I took my red and overheated - but extremely relaxed body - back to the staff room.

Instead of my vision of them all crowded round a TV monitor having a good laugh, they were all just going along with their usual business of making sure all the other guests were looked after and relaxing like they should.

Next on my 'things-to-do-at-work' list is to get a facial, have an Aboriginally-inspired relaxation massage and master the art of printing a gift voucher. Although, the latter will surely come before the former - have to earn the dollars from this company before I can trade it back!

That's the way it goes

2010-06-10T20:37:00.000+10:00

THIS week, my time working at the nursing agency came to an end. A little ahead of schedule one might say but living life as a casual employee, you have to take the rough with the smooth.

The hourly rate of a casual is generally better than that of permanent employees but there also come a whole heap of disadvantages too. I've worked shifts as a casual allocations consultant since late November and have picked up some chunky wage packets but the downside to not being a fully fledged permanent member of staff means no holiday pay and no sick leave. Not that I've had any bout of illness bad enough to keep me from my keyboard but not having a five week paid holiday break perk is badly missed.

Husband has been wanting to get off on holiday upto Queensland for a few months but the thought of losing a whole week's pay didn't bode well with me. With restricted dollarage, I'd be more frugal than ever and that's not what I like to be. I'm a spender not a saver and to have a week with no cash didn't sound like much fun.

So with the onslaught of company cutbacks, some staff have faced the axe - me being one of them. With hindsight I think I did well to serve my time there, considering I know absolutely nothing about the world of nursing. I've learnt a lot about the different types of nurse and what they can and can't do and even had an insight behind the scenes of a public hospital. I was once given a booking for two Div2 nurses but one had to be a male, for a 'special' at the local hossie. When I'd found suitable staff, I called their names back to one of the allocations team who said "Now, which one is for the shackled patient...?"

At this point, my attention had been grasped and I was keen to learn more about this side of hospital life that I've never seen before. The most I've seen is a couple of maternity wards and a brief spell in A&E with one of my boys when he cut open his lip. That's my hospital history. So to hear that patients are shackled to their beds means one thing and one thing only. That they need a one-to-one nurse who can put out physical restraint if need be.

Some 'specials' are little old ladies who have a tendency to abscond and leg it from the ward to the nearest Bottle-O and others are little more demanding, with the threat of causing danger to other patients and staff.

It's a sad part of today's society that staff can feel threatened in their place of work. Doctors, nurses and a whole heap of other working professionals are to be admired for the roles they play in helping keep us all on the right track.

And on the right track I now aim to get... job number 5 - here I come.

It's a dog's life

2010-05-13T11:42:00.000+10:00

THIS week, we're dogsitting for a friend and her family while they jet off to Tassie for the week.

Their long-legged Labradoodle puppy is virtually a mirror image of ours and they've grown up together over the last 10 months. Inseparable when they meet up, the pups play for hours on end, so much to the point of landing themselves with bloodshot eyes and tired out looks on their faces.

We have a relatively large back yard and the boys can roam free to their hearts' content. Although, I do get a bit tetchy babysitting someone else's 'baby' ... he's a 'digger' you see and although I'm upto speed with what mischief our pup is capable of, having a newbie in the house is a different ball game.

I sat in the hairdressers this morning worrying away in case I got home to an open gate and an empty garden. I put my usual shopping on hold until I rocked up home and checked they were both exactly where they should be. And they were. Which came as a huge relief.

When they're inside, rolling around with eachother, they fill the house. They're like a big piece of curly chocolate brown tumbleweed and now the rainy season is with us, that, too, traipses in with them.

Now at the moment, I don't mind this mess as we're in the full throes of a messy renovation anyway but the sooner I get this mud patch of a garden dug up and filled in with a swimming pool, the better.

I'm not a lover of much of the green stuff, particularly when it's so hard to keep looking nice over here. In spring and summer, it's a threadbare and water-starved patch. In autumn and winter, the rain comes down on it hard and turns it into a Virgo-woman's nightmare.

Kids + dogs + mud + freshly cleaned house = disgruntled Mandi.

It's all in a name

2010-05-05T21:55:00.001+10:00

I'VE had a funny old week. After a month and a half of being without wheels following the untimely 'death' of one of our cars, we finally got some cash together and bought me a motor.

I found it for sale at a car wholesaler on the internet and husband went to give it the once over during a lunch break. He liked what he saw and knew that I would too so put down a deposit and went to collect it later that week. We booked it in with a local mechanic to give it a thorough going over, service and bit of TLC to get it through its roadworthy test (MoT).

All this was finished just in the nick of time to make it for our slot with VicRoads to get the machine registered in our name with new plates. But on the return trip from the rego office, the beast faltered and gave me no option to do a u-ey (U-turn) and nurse the machine back to base.

All deflated and harrassed, I headed in to do a shift at work and left husband with the strife of sorting out the problems our new buy had brought. It seems the head gasket's blown and to buy a new one, we've been told it will cost us $900.

Funny that... because thanks to the wonderful internet, we've managed to buy one for £85 - the equivalent of $146 - and that includes round the world postage. Yes, we may have to wait a day or two longer than if we were to buy the same thing over here, but for a price hike like that, I'd rather spend the difference whiling away the time in the natural hot springs down the road or on a trip to the city or a weekend away. Even possibly all three.

So, for the time being, I continue to get around in a borrowed purple Barina - a kind and thoughtful colleague had given me the free lease of her spare wheels until I got myself sorted. But just as soon as I did, I've been thrown right back to square one with a new car laid up over the pit and feeling a bit crook.

When the car salesman signed the paperwork selling us this car, I raised an eyebrow and poked fun at his Christian name, not thinking for one minute of the possibilities. Surely it was pure coincidence that he answered to the name of ... wait for it ... Kon!

Remembering fondly

2010-04-28T21:15:00.001+10:00

ANZAC Day came and went - with a deck full of adults and garden full of kids.

The rain held off and it was nice enough to sit outside enjoying the chill that autumn brings with it and I was all out of jackets and shrugs come 8pm. Judging by how full the recycling bin was the next day though, I wondered how any of our guests felt the chill.

Husband took up his usual party position at the helm of the barbecue and I scuttled around the place making sure glasses were filled and wine was chilled. In patriotic mood, we all sat beneath the national flag bunting and raised a glass in honour of those for whom this public holiday is all about.

ANZAC Day is commemorated by Australia and New Zealand as a national day of remembrance to honour those who fought at Gallipoli during the First World War. Dawn services are solemn events and bring the message home of how wrong and woeful war is.

War veterans are joined by the Scouts, Guides, the Defence Force and other uniformed groups as they march through the streets and this is followed by social gatherings, often including an Australian gambling game called 'two-up'.

This game was a popular one with ANZAC (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) soldiers and although Australian states have laws forbidding gambling outside of designated licensed venues, these rules are relaxed on ANZAC Day when it becomes legal to play 'two-up'.

I, personally, didn't witness much of this for I was in the throes of entertaining my garden party guests while we remembered our fallen heroes. What they went through will never be - and should never be - forgotten...

Happy days...

2010-04-21T21:49:00.002+10:00

IT'S been on the calendar for a few weeks, but yesterday came the day for a girls' day out.

Celebrating the birthday of one of my Welsh friends, we climbed into an 8-seater and headed off on a winery tour. It wasn't so much a tour but a whistlestop visit to a smattering of the most local vineyards.

We started off locally, about 6kms down the road, where we were given a tasting on four refreshing whites and three full bodied reds. Looking quite the demure party in heels and skirts, we nosed bouquets, swirled glasses and held full interest in what we were being told by the cellar doorman.

There were comparisons of 'oaky notes' and 'nutty length' - which raised a few titters - but for me, I was happy just sipping mouthfuls here and there of anything that came my way!

We sampled the chalky texture of a Riesling, the mouth-coating tannins of a Shiraz and a young-drinking and food-friendly Tempranillo with its red cherry tannins and a whisper of oak. Even the aromatic and lively Pinot Noir held my attention enough for me to invest in a bottle to sip away at in the early afternoon sun.

A few of the girls invested in a case of their favourites and after they were bundled into the boot - the cases, not the girls - on we went to the next venue.

This time, some 15kms or so further across the peninsula, we pulled up for some lunch at another watering hole. These places take my breath away. I'm forever telling myself how lucky I am to call this place home, my sense of pride is immense.

The immaculate rows of vines roll on for miles and in between sips of Chardy, we took in the views. These got blurrier as the day went on though, and by 5pm, last orders had been called and home we went. For a bit more wine... this time from my girlfriend's fridge!

Good times.

Tick tock

2010-04-10T22:10:00.001+10:00

THIS weekend, we put back our clocks an hour to prepare for the official onset of autumn and winter.

Daylight Savings will put Melbourne back in line with its Queensland cousins as they resist to take part in the tradition that lengthens the hours of daylight throughout the spring and summer seasons.

The northern state doesn't undertake the clock-changing-process because, well.... just because. It's a permanent hot potato and a bone of contention for most northerners. The great divide of 'for' and 'against' goes on, even after trials back in 1971, 1989, 90 and 91.

In 1992, the Queensland Summer Time Act was the subject of a referendum where Queenslanders voted 54.5% against daylight savings. And so it goes on. But Queensland does have a case against daylight saving insofar as it is hot, sub-tropical and nearly homogenous in its seasonal daylight patterns.

I understand that there is a whole heap of good reasons why the operation takes place. Apparently, car fatality statistics are reduced, as is crime, pollution and heating and lighting costs. But on the flip side, it can, and has been known to, cause confusion to those working on the borders of existing time zones by complicating timekeeping, disrupting travel, meetings, billing systems and computer software.

To be honest, the whole thing monkeys around with my brain. I've been out here for more than a year and still fail to instantly work out what time it is back in UK. I can't do it without counting on fingers and pulling an odd and quizzical face while staring at the analogue clockface we have hanging in our kitchen.

Easter Monday has been highlighted on my social calendar to celebrate a colleague's wedding - I just hope we get our timing right and turn up on schedule to witness our second Aussie wedding!

Used to hate it, now I love it

2010-03-30T20:31:00.001+11:00

IT'S been a rainy old weekend. Warm but rainy. And the garden looks a totally different sight already.

After weeks of drought-like weather, the surrounding shrubbery has taken on a new look. Within days, the dusty and threadbare back garden has been transformed into what now resembles a lush paddock ... and it's all down to a hefty serving of the wet stuff.

I don't resent the rain here like I did in the UK. It's a powerful and much valued commodity that's taken for granted - and here, there's a severe shortage of it.

I have memories of planning countless social events with friends and family, only to have those plans scuppered by Wales' torrential downfalls. At the races, it rained. At the park, it rained. During the height of summer barbecues and camping trips, it rained. It was something we simply got used to. And it was something we simply always moaned about.

But although Melbourne gets its fair share, rain rarely stops play. It's usually warm enough to dry up right after itself and most of the public barbecue areas are under cover - predominantly to provide shade from the rays but to the contrare, to keep one's rib-eye and kanga-bangers dry too.

We've re-trained ourselves to switch off the taps when we're brushing our teeth, only fill the sink with the amount of water needed to wash the dishes and limit our time in the shower.
The cars rarely get a clean and the plants barely get a soaking, but that's purely down to the fact that I can never drag myself out of bed to make the 6am-8am twice weekly curfew in which to do it.

The time slot is most definitely one that deters the would-be water wasters and is for those diehard fans of the hosepipe. Anyone found working the water out of this time zone risks hefty fines and residential water restrictions.

I can't afford to have any more fines after the ones I've been hit with, thanks to my heavy right foot, so the more rain down here, the better, in my book.

Learn something new every day

2010-03-24T18:44:00.000+11:00

WELL. That's another load of visitors gone, bid farewell with choked works and teary eyes.

Our 18-year-old niece and boyfriend have spent the last four or five weeks camping in our back yard before catching the one-way-road up north. Enroute, they'll be stopping off at all the usual places like Sydney, Queensland and the Northern Territory, followed by trips to New Zealand and the USA before heading back to the UK and onto to take up their university educations.

This trip will teach them lots in the way of lifeskills. For three nights, they planned a short trip to see the Twelve Apostles - one of Victoria's most breathtaking sights on the Great Ocean Road. On this youth-hostel-based-trip alone, they came back to the peninsula armed with enough information to write a book and the enthusiasm to get on with the next part of their travelog.

Ours boys have so enjoyed having one of their eldest cousins around - to watch them play basketball, collect them from school and even help them out with their homework. But there are some schoolwork assignments that children simply have to accomplish themselves.

And I'm not talking about spellings, or reading, or even the nine-times-table. It's what my 10-year-old has been doing this past few weeks and after seaside events of the past few weeks, I favour it big time.

A two-day excursion took my boy out to one of the local stretches of beach where he, along with his school chums, embarked on an intensive water safety and survival program. The days were designed to give the children an opportunity to develop their water skills and enhance their appreciation for the beach environment.

This year, the school incorporated a 'Resusitate a Mate' activity, delivered by Lifesaving Victoria. The one-hour interactive session has been designed to introduce children to basic anatomy and emergency response management and I'm all for it. Especially so, after recent events when we could have so easily lost our youngest son to the clutches of the waves.

On the last day of this program, the children competed in Iron Boy and Girl events when they had to run a kilometre along the beach, swim and the paddle their way around a grueller of a course.

Having lessons at the seaside is awesome. Just ask my boys!

Now you 'sea' it, now you don't

2010-03-15T22:20:00.002+11:00

I'M tired. Burning the candle at both ends is starting to take its toll on me.

In work on Saturday arvo, a few colleagues who were up for a night on the sauce made arrangements to meet up with me later on as I celebrated the birthday party of one of my girlfriends.

We rocked up at the Indian restaurant with wine in brown bags and sort of took over the whole venue in a giggly and brash sort of way. But what a whole heap of fun we had.

I'm glad I'm now in a situation where I can grab a few co-workers and get out on the town. That's a major part of what I've been missing over the past twelve months. The work-social-scenario that I left behind was a relatively healthy one and I've missed it heaps. Until now.

I work with a few like-minded good-time girls and an even more like-minded good-time guy who is the best company. Based at a different office up towards the city, he has a certain 'je ne sais quoi' quality about him. His one-liners are priceless and his comic genius has me in stitches. It's funny how you can bond so well with a virtual stranger but I feel like I've known him forever.

So again, the inevitable re-occurred that resulted in me reaching for the Panadol on Sunday morning. But the best hangover cure did present itself to me later that day as we took up an invitation to one of our local beaches with some friends.

We arranged to meet up after us loading up our kayak and skim boards and them loading up their kayak, skim boards, waterskis, 'doughnut', kneeboard, jetski and ... wait for it, speedboat. And what a great time we all had. Even me. The biggest non-water-baby that ever walked the earth.

After a spin in the boat, my girlfriend tried to get me on the back of her jetski. Having none of it, I re-told the tale of the last time I went on one, some 15 odd years ago, only to get thrown off it and having to swim back to shore. They spent all afternoon in persuasive mode until finally I gave in and jumped onto the driver's seat with her husband as pillion. After a minute or two negotiating the waves, I cranked up to full throttle, egged on by my daredevil passenger.

But the best part of the day has to be when have-a-go husband tried his hand at kneeboarding off the back of the boat. I was the 'spotter' that's a requirement when towing someone to look out for them and their safety.

I did fear, at one point though, for the safety of the landlubbers we'd left behind on the shore, as husband lost his shorts and gave the local sealife a shock as he bobbed along looking for his lost property.

He soon wished the sea he was in wasn't quite so clear as we on board got an absolute eyeful of his predicament. Hilarious!

All in a mother's days work

2010-03-08T14:54:00.005+11:00

SINCE we've lived in Australia, I've been in the sea how many times? Let me recall.... ermmm... twice.

The first was when I was under the influence and didn't care that I was fully dressed and soaked to the skin. The second time was to save my youngest son's life.

The latter, I realise, sounds melodramatic but that's exactly how it is. We went down to the sea for some bank holiday beach fun and took advantage of the dry weather before the forecast storms headed down.

The boys and their dad were out quite far as I watched from the comfort of my recliner but it was shallow. They were far out but I could see that they had no problem standing up and enjoying the water.

So as I chatted on the shore, I spotted youngest son leaving the flock and heading back. The clouds, I noticed, had suddenly gotten blacker and the waves a tad higher. And stronger.

As he swam towards the sand, I could see him trying to swim but his efforts were getting him nowhere as he bobbed around among the waves.
I called to husband to keep an eye on him, but then something inside my head told me I had to kick off my shoes and just get in there to him. Fast.

At this point, husband realised something was wrong from the fact that I had actually got into the water, in my clothes, and was swimming for my life towards the little fella.

For every two strokes forward, the waves slammed me back one but I shouted out to him that I was nearly there and that he just had to wait a bit for me. I plucked him from the water and carried him back to shore - wishing that the clothes I'd opted to put on this day, weren't quite so transparent when drenched!

So, a little shocked, we bundled our things together and threw them in the boot of the car and headed home for a hot tea with four sugars.... followed by a beer to chill the nerves.

The dangers of swimming have now shown their true colours to this family. I'm glad this has happened if only to show the children how easy it is for life to be taken away. With one parent in the water and one on dry land, this time we all lived to tell the tale. But it could have so easily been a whole different story.

But the laugh is on me for the time being. Before my hair had even had chance to dry, I'd been dubbed Baywatch, Bondi Mandi and even Pamela M-anderson.

One to tell the grandchildren though I suppose...

The visitors have landed

2010-03-03T21:18:00.002+11:00

THIS week, we took delivery of our second set of visitors. Fresh from three weeks in Sydney, came our 18-year-old niece and boyfriend.

They've spent the last couple of months working at jobs in UK to save up the funds for the return flight and sustainance allowance that will keep them going for the five months they're over here.

Last night, we took them for a Thai meal in town, that wasn't before making a pitstop at the grog warehouse to pick up some supplies. They were made up to be going out to a restaurant where you could get out your six pack in full view of the restaurant staff who didn't bat an eyelid. A six pack of the bottle variety, of course. Anything other would've raised some eyebrows, for sure.

So the BYO (Bring Your Own) restaurant was a hit and then we headed off to hit the hotspots of the town and in a moment of madness, I agreed to bypass the lengthy cab queue and walk the 4km walk home. In heels. And with a girlfriend with higher ones than I.

Not one of my best decisions but an hour and a half later, we were home and ready for zzzz's. It's a tiring business, this entertaining lark. I need to take them snorkelling at our local beach to swim with the sealife and if they want, all the local attractions of the area that we now, as residents, take for granted.

A visit to Melbourne wouldn't be complete without a trip up north into the city for the annual Moomba Festival. The free community festival, covering four days, claims to be the largest in Australia and here we have it. Right on our culture-vulture doorstep.

The art, music, sport and cultural festival is in it's 55th year and one of the attactions I want to catch is the Birdman Rally when fearless birdmen and women take to the skies in their madcap attempts to fly across the Yarra River.

But I really will need to make all efforts to stay off the Yarra Valley wine on whichever day we eventually decide to go in on. Or I can see the Birdman Rally getting itself a last minute entrant.

Knuckling down

2010-02-22T21:42:00.002+11:00

I'VE been upto my old tricks again this week. With a paintbrush and 10-litre pot of colour.

Husband has, of late, been battling with the north-facing sun with the installation of an alfresco area. The decking took an absolute age and a day to put down.
With three and a half thousand nails to keep it together, it provides the platform for what will be our new entertainment zone.

What I really need to be happening though, is the fast and furious growth of our boundary bushes. Our plot runs paralled to a main road and a bus stop so there's no shortage of Peeping Toms who feel the need to stick their head over the fence and have a sneaky peak at our work in progress.

It puts me off getting a pool just now, I'd rather plough any disposable cash into getting the one hundred and one smaller jobs done and that includes the addition of a fourth bedroom. We have nowhere for guests to stay over at the moment so the sooner this happens, the better.

So, I've spent my day off up a ladder trying to apply colour in the midday sun. I've done my fair share of painting and am no stranger to the world of decorating but never before have I had to work with paint like this.

After an hour, it's consistency resembles custard - complete with skin - and leaving the job for just a five minute break results in the brush drying out so much that painting with a stick would've produced better results...

I've painted in all sorts of extreme weather conditions. Trying to get the job done on days off in the UK, I've painted in the cold, the wind, the sun and sometimes the rain. I remember trying to get our front door coloured up one wintry afternoon kitted out in ski-type gear and gloves, having to go inside every fifteen minutes to thaw out. I think the paint was tacky for three days, but at least the job was done in the time alloted!

As the completion of phase one home improvement gets under our belt, it will surely spur us on to get going with the rest. That's if we can - temporarily - pull ourselves away from the busy social life we have.

Aussie band in deep water

2010-02-17T22:14:00.001+11:00

THIS week, I read a piece in our local newspaper, funnily enough - The Leader - about a legal wrangle going on round these parts.

It seems the 1981 number one hit for Aussie band, Men at Work, has landed itself in a right bucketful of hot water over a publishing rights pickle.

More than 20 years after hitting the right note on the international hit parade, it has come to light that the catchy flute ditty used in the song actually comes from Marion Sinclair's original song - Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree - that made its debut at the world Scout Jamboree held in Frankston, just a stone's throw up the road from us here, back in 1935. Even Lord Baden Powell himself was there to witness the song's showcase.

For such a high profile song that was also performed during the closing ceremony to the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney alongside Paul Hogan of Croc Dundee fame and then at the Australia Unites Victorian Bushfire Appeal Telethon, I'm just wondering where the federal court has been until now - some two decades on - before lodging their disdain at the band's attempt at plagiarism...

To bathe, or not to bathe

2010-02-17T22:12:00.000+11:00

DURING the summer months, the message sent out by authorities and police departments is clear - don't drink and drive.

But these days, I'm hearing a different message and fitting for the area in which we now live - don't drink and dive.

The amount of beach and pool related deaths is astounding. The sun shines and the thermometers are fit for busting so it's no surprise we all feel the need to delve into the fridge for a tinny or two and cool off in the water.

Statistics have shown that over a six year period, there were 1,551 non-boating accidental drownings in Australia. Of these, 77 per cent were males and 23 were females. The presence of drugs, including alcohol, was recorded in 148 of the 1,096 that were over the age of 14.

Private swimming pools accounted for 17 per cent of all drownings. 64 per cent were toddlers, 66 per cent of which were male. A significant feature in this group is that of all private pool drownings over the age of 34 years, 63 per cent were female.

That final figure surprised me. The highest number of statistical pool related deaths are of women with more than thirty years under their belt. Old enough to know better, or not, it just goes to show that when your number's up, your number's up...

Water, water everywhere. Well, not actually...

2010-02-11T22:30:00.001+11:00

THIS week, I've made a promise to myself. To have a weekend with no social gatherings, parties or booze.

Now although I may falter on the latter, the former two are - hopefully - easily achievable targets.
Since Christmas, and even before that, we've had dates marked on the calendar for get togethers and the like. It's a very social sort of country, this Australia place, but while we're out mingling, all the domesticities that come with running a household are put on the back barbecue burner.

My liver is not a particular fan of the fact that we've decided to settle in the heart of the winery region nor is our bank balance. We have a grog warehouse just down the road and a winery on every corner and it's all too easy to while away the evening in the hammock sipping on a chilled Chardy each night.

But it's not getting any work done round here. We've fallen that far behind with the chores that we've hired a gardener. Given the choice of domestic help, I'd have opted for a cleaner but seeing as though the garden is bigger than the house that stands on it, a man with the mower it was.

So every other week, our man rocks up to kill the weeds, sculpt the "Neighbour-Be-Gone" trees and trim the grass, if you can call it that. The heat from the past month or two has frazzled any sort of green stuff we had in the back yard and now, it's just a tatty parcel of land that's crying out to be filled by the installation of a pool.

We'll probably get the necessary planning permission just in time for winter so our timing isn't all that great, but I'm banking on bagging a bargain in the hope that there's a winter sale on all things wet and summery.

We've never bought a pool before and I'm not sure whether to go for a kidney, Roman, lap or Tahitan variety. And when it's in, there lies the problem of filling it. Never before have we had to watch our water so much. Having been slapped with a Grade 3a water restriction this summer means that an excessive amount of water usage has to be declared. And it's not just a case of filling it with a crafty go on the hosepipe either.

For around $3,000, a tanker delivers the liquid gold and in some cases, more than one is needed, depending on the size of pool it has to fill so I'm not looking forward to THAT bill.

But for now, we're taking advantage of the free pool just down the road ... it's as big as you want it to be and it's great to take a dip when the heat of the day has subsided. It's called the Port Phillip Bay and we love it!

Looking back

2010-01-25T20:32:00.001+11:00

WITH the first anniversary of Black Saturday almost upon us, we've been reflecting on our first year Down Under. Yes, time flies, but I didn't think it did that quick.

We left Manchester Airport at a jaw-juddering -7C temperature last February and arrived in Australia just in time for one of the most infamous days in Australian history.
With temperatures soaring to a blistering 43C, bush fires ravaged across parts of Australia, taking in their paths the lives and properties of people who never thought it would be as bad as it actually was.

Prince William was in Melbourne last week spending the morning of his third day in Australia visiting bush fire victims. Two thousand homes were destroyed and 173 people killed in the fires that swept through Victoria, fuelled by 100mph winds. And it seems like just yesterday.

The Prince talked to people who'd been affected by the fires, met with John Brumby, the Premier of Victoria, and was shown a book with pictures of the disaster.

Prince William then went on to Flowerdale, another community badly affected by the fires. John Burgess, chairman of the Flowerdale Recovery Committee, noted that the Prince's visit was a welcome distraction from the constant grind of disaster recovery.

So as the emotional and structural re-build goes on, the threat of a repeat performance seems all the more real now summer is well and truly here.
It's nice that we can eat dinner in the garden, it's even nicer to hang out washing only to bring it back in bone dry within the hour.

But the thought of another natural disaster that was purely brought on by the catastrophic combination of blistering heat and ferocious winds is always there at the back of our minds.

Everybody needs good neighbours

2010-01-20T19:35:00.002+11:00

WELL, I think we've cracked it on the new neighourly social scene.

Not only did we get to jump into one their's pool - fully clothed - at the strike of midnight on New Year's Eve but tonight, we headed over the road to spend an hour or two in the company of our overworked Australian counterparts.

Our typically good looking Aussie accountant and retail manager friends both have jobs that dictate their social lives. The world of retail over here, as it is back there, is pretty much 12/7 so any windows of social opportunity rarely present themselves and our neighbourly party lives are put on hold.

Until tonight. We were invited round for a beer or three and to be honest, it was a treat to sit in a house that didn't need X, Y and Z doing to it. It took me right back to when we were converting our chapel in Wales. In the early days, we would spend our evenings out at friends trying to forget the work we had to undertake. But when the job in hand eventually came together, we found ourselves hard pressed to even leave the confines of the masterpiece we'd created.

And now, we find ourselves in the same position. I totally feel the underdog to all the beautiful and stylish homes we find ourselves invited to. I know it's going to take a good few years getting this place exactly how we want it but for now, we just have to bite the bullet and work on the immediate requirements. All the cosmetic touches will come with the onset of time. And disposable cash.

The blueprints have been drawn up for a pool in the back yard and the conversion of a car port into another bedroom and all we need now is for the council's rubber stamp all over them before we can get on with some real masonry work.

But back to the neighbours... I first met them when we'd exchanged contracts and picked up the keys. After a quick look around our new house, I clocked them getting out of the car on their driveway so grasped the opportunity to rock up on their nature strip and introduce myself.

Since that day, they've put our garbage bins out for us when we've been, how can I say, worse for wear, and tonight we've even had the privilege of seeing their honeymoon DVD. And I feel honoured! While we sat there and drank tinnies in stubby holders, we took the mick out of neighbour who kept chipping into our giggleage with "Naaaa, ya gurra see this bit..."

Before we left UK, friends said we were making the right decision and that we'd have no problem making new chums. That, I didn't doubt for a minute, but times like this just reinforce that message. If you're willing to put yourself out there, good things come to those who wait...

New girl no more

2010-01-13T22:13:00.001+11:00

SO now another new girl has started at the office, I can no longer play dumb and seek solace with my colleagues.

No more will the wounded new girl approach work, for now, I have to look as if I know exactly what I'm doing, even if I don't.

Don't get me wrong, I've grasped the nettle insofar as allocating nurses to shifts but it's all the other stuff that comes hand in hand with the operation that befuddles me.

When a nurse is allocated to a shift, that's exactly how I like it. When that nurse calls up and pulls out of the shift because she wants a longer one or a shorter one or one on a different day at a different time at a different place ... that's when I get the heebie-jeebies.

Multi-tasking is not my strong point. I like to keep mistakes to an all-time minimum and for that I have to keep myself focussed. And that's hard when the phones shriek relentlessly for staff to fill all those low-manned shifts.

It's easy to get sidetracked in this job but your mind has to prioritise accordingly. Granted, it's not helped when nurses drop in to bring their timesheets and want to stay for a chat. For a lot of the time, this is more than welcomed because that's when you get to hear the valued feedback from where we've sent them to work.

The flip side of that is trying to sound interested in maybe what family issues they're going through or how many hours they've worked that week or where they find the best place to buy a watermelon, when really all you want to do is find staff to find a whole new heap of shifts that have just come flooding in. Any unfilled shifts don't bring in the moolah and that's not what we're trying to achieve here.

So as new girl is shown the ropes that have just been shown to me, I'll be earwigging and trying to soak up a little more knowledge at her new working day expense. I just hope she doesn't ask me too many questions because I really don't know how many I'll be able to answer.

But then, I might even surprise myself...

History repeats itself

2010-01-05T22:29:00.001+11:00

OOPS! ... I did it again.

I have just spent the last half hour rolling my eyes at husband who opened his mail .. only to discover a letter from the Victoria Police Department.

I frowned and gurned at him when he read out of his latest offence - exceeding the speed limit on the Mooroduc Freeway by a measly 8km an hour. But it's still a lawbreaker.
The documentation officially logged his whereabouts at the time of the crime and he went on to rack his brain and retrace his speedy steps.

All I could think of was how much make up I could buy with that $146 we'd now have to find to pay the fine. But the penny dropped moments later, only for the invoice to boomerang its way back in my direction as Super Sleuth had worked out it was actually me in that car at that time on that day of that week. Groan.

I can't believe I've been here a matter of minutes and I have two speeding offences under my belt. But it's sooo easy to do. Big whopping 4-litre engines and automatic transmissions mean you can just wollop your foot down without any need to negotiate the gears and escalate gently to the speed you want. It's either stop or go over here... and I'm paying the price for it.

Through the grapevine though, we've heard that local graveyard dodgers have an ingenious way of saving up for their annual luxury cruiseship holidays. These pensioners take points off drivers who are getting dangerously close to a ban and entrepreneurily name their price.

A couple of points on their licence isn't going to get them a ban as they spend most of their time overseas and enjoying the holidays of a lifetime - at the expense of those with a heavy right foot.

Can't help but admire them....

Happy New Year

2010-01-01T22:19:00.002+11:00

I'VE recently had the most awesome weekend. It started on a Friday night with my office Christmas party - IN the office!

Now, having an office based in a house has a great many benefits when it comes to social events. There's a kitchen to prepare the food, a dishwasher to help with the clearing up, a patio area for alfresco socialising with colleagues and bosses, a fridge for the wine and my favourite - a bath filled with ice to keep the beer on chill.

My eyes were on stalks when I clocked this, absolutely hilarious. What wasn't so hilarious was me falling over and rolling my ankle after more than one too many self-measured Jim Beams.

On the way down, I banged my head and cracked a shoulder blade on the door frame - or so I was told. I don't actually remember all that much about the event - all I recall is trying to regain some sort of composure after taking the tumble and thanking my husband and a colleague for helping me get back to a vertical state.

Working with nurses comes with a whole heap of advantages in so far as advising me I'd probably broken my ankle which gave me even more mileage at home to get out of lots of jobs I had little inclination in doing.

The following night, we went to a 40th birthday party. We were flattered when our friend of 9 months invited us to the event at a beautiful restaurant in Mt Eliza. The dress code was cocktail and the lavish affair fed and watered us all until the small hours of Sunday.

As the champagne flowed, there too came an announcement that thanked us all for attending the birthday bash. But this was a birthday bash with a twist. Over the mic came "... now you thought you were all here to celebrate Mel's 40th birthday. But in fact, you're here for her wedding..." at which point the guests shrieked in amazement and in walked our newly gowned up bride - this time in white.

In a state of giddy shock, we all headed down into the garden as dusk began to fall to witness the most beautiful ceremony I've ever seen. There was laughter, tears, happiness and joy and the delight on the bride's face is a vision I'll never ever forget.

Being there to see the lid lifted on such a special secret is one of my favourite Australian memories. I felt honoured, flattered and privileged to be invited as a guest to such an intimate affair and as we looked on at the couple say their vows as the peninsula sun faded behind them, I felt warmth on the inside as well as the out and there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

So the festive season has been a good one. Different ... but good. We went to the beach for a spell after the big fella had delivered his gifts and we had a roast with all the trimmings.

On New Year's Eve, we went to our local for early doors and spent a few hours on the rooftop deck all clamouring for the shade as sunset temps averaged 30C. After a lift home, we went to a house party at friends over the road and at the strike of midnight, husband and I jumped in their pool - fully clothed and still clutching a Jim Beam! What a way to welcome in the new year. I wonder if this is how things will be from now on....?

Happy New Year!

Twelve Days of Christmas

2009-12-20T21:56:00.000+11:00

WE'VE been singing one of our favourite traditional carols this week. But this time, with a twist. It goes something like...

On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
A kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Two cockatoos, and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Four great galahs, three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Five opals black, four great galahs, three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Six 'roos a-jumping, five opals black, four great galahs, three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Seven emus running, six 'roos a-jumping, five opals black, four great galahs, three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Eight koalas clinging, seven emus running, six 'roos a-jumping, five opals black, four great galahs, three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Nine wombats waddling, eight koalas clinging, seven emus running, six 'roos a-jumping, five opals black, four great galahs, three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Ten dingoes dashing, nine wombats waddling, eight koalas clinging, seven emus running, six 'roos a-jumping, five opals black, four great galahs, three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Eleven snakes a-sliding, ten dingoes dashing, nine wombats waddling, eight koalas clinging, seven emus running, six 'roos a-jumping, five opals black, four great galahs, three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me -
Twelve goannas going, eleven snakes a-sliding, ten dingoes dashing, nine wombats waddling, eight koalas clinging, seven emus running, six 'roos a-jumping, five opals black, four great galahs, three parakeets, two cockatoos and a kookaburra in a gum tree.

This Sheila simply can't wait for that little lot to rock up on the festive Down Under doorstep... Happy Christmas!

Breaking the habit of a lifetime

2009-12-14T20:20:00.002+11:00

UP until today, I have been what could be considered as "moderately laid back" in my festive planning.

So, in a vain attempt to put myself around before the Big Fella visits, I've been speaking with a neighbour, friend and fellow mum-from-school and have taken the first steps into organising a bit of a do on Christmas Eve.

Granted, people have stuff to do, so we've decided to open up the house for a wine or two on the night before Christmas just purely to catch up and spend time with eachother on our new decking area. Just an hour or two. Promise. That's all I'll need to touch base with everyone before the big day.

To be honest, with just days to go 'til the big event, I'm still more than unprepared for it. I'd like to have champagne and strawberries in bed while the children tear the wrappings off their gifts, then, when calm is restored, we plan on heading down to the beach for a quick dip in the ocean to build up an appetite for the festive feast. All traditional of course. With sprouts, and turkey and veggies galore.

But before that, I have to get my head around the annual Christmas tree purchase. Each and every year until now, I've always got my own way by insisting on a real tree. Not sure why. Just one of those things that I'm hell-bent on. So, this year shouldn't be any different. Until I heard the stories about all things green and real.

We were just about ready to part with our $50 when we spotted a friend in the distance and had a chat. He's been out here for a few years and went on to tell us they also went all out with tradition on their first festive season with a real tree. But never again he said. Especially after wrestling with the over-sized and cumbersome branches to get a few baubles on, then having to pick all the needles up after they dropped all over the floor within minutes of being dressed and last but by no means least... the way the spiders crawl out of them once they're inside and looking pretty.

Not being ready to have Redbacks as part of my overall colour scheme, we grabbed a more than understated plastic variety cashing in at a whopping $11.90 (!!!) and now have the task of trying to make it look as grand as my elaborate arboreal predecessors.

But until we have the house exactly how we want it, I'm really not fussed this year. As long as the boys enjoy putting it all together and there's plenty of gifts beneath it, that's fine in my Christmas book.

So, having broke the back of the shopping today, all's that's left is to work a few shifts to pay for it all, before the boys break up for their 7-week summer holidays from school and dream about a laid back festive season in the sun.

Carolling on the course

2009-12-07T21:55:00.001+11:00

WE went to a local golf club on Sunday night for a festive carol singing event. Sitting there in the sun singing Away in a Manger was surreal but then, Christmas Down Under was always going to be different to whatever we've known before.

At the golf club, we were introduced to a new version of one of our favourite traditional carols but this time, with a twist. It went something like...

Dashing through the bush, in a rusty Holden ute
Kicking up the dust, Esky in the boot
Kelpie by my side, singing Christmas songs
It's summer time and I am in
My singlet, shorts and thongs.

Oh... Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way
Christmas in Australia on a scorching summer's day
Jingle bells, jingle bells, Christmas time's a beaut,
Oh what fun it is to ride in a rusty Holden ute.

Engine's getting hot, we dodge the kangaroos
The swaggie climbs aboard, he is welcome too
All the family's there, sitting by the pool
Christmas Day, the Aussie way, by the barbecue.

Oh... Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way
Christmas in Australia on a scorching summer's day.
Jingle bells, jingle bells, Christmas time's a beaut
Oh what fun it is to ride in a rusty Holden ute.

New girl... again

2009-12-01T21:44:00.002+11:00

TODAY, I woke up homesick. Not sure how that exactly works because Australia is my home now but I felt a tad on the off side.

Although I've been surprisingly fine upto now, I've been told the UK heartstrings inevitably pull - regardless of how many tens of thousands of miles they have to stretch. But they do. And especially at this time of year.

I've said it before and I'll say it again but I really can't get my head around the fact that Christmas is just a matter of a few weeks away. When we're experiencing blistering heats of 35C, I'm in no frame of mind to put together a wishlist for Santa or even buy Christmas cards. For the past 40-odd years, my brain has been trained to celebrate the Noel in temperatures hardly failing to get off zero but here I am, in a hot and drowsy state, trying to put some sort of order into organising our first Aussie festive season.

To be honest, I'll be quite happy to just sit back and let it happen but half of me thinks I should be planning things to keep us busy and our minds on track. Although there will be countless thoughts of how things are without us on the other side of the globe, we have to take stock of what we have and look to the future.

We have two lives running parallel to eachother now. A life with fond memories that will never diminish. Another really new and fresh one in which we're learning all the time. It is enough to monkey around with our brains and emotions but us Pommies are made of sterner stuff ... well, I thought that until this morning.

I feel a little unsettled and I'm putting it down to starting a new job and all the mixed sort of feelings that that brings. In my new role as an allocations consultant at a nursing agency, I feel awkward.

This environment is a fast paced one and I'm constantly being told that I'll grasp the nettle soon enough. I simply hate being the new office girl but really can't think of a nicer place to be the rookie.
The staff and it's bosses are fantastic people and from an outsider looking in, I get the feeling they really look after everyone. And that speaks volumes. Loyalty works both ways and that's why I think I'm missing Leader-land so much.

Almost 17 years under my newspaper belt and no wonder I'm feeling jaded. Ever since I got here, I've been craving getting settled into a job I look forward to going to.

And here, I think I might have found it...

New girl at the office

2009-11-19T12:13:00.001+11:00

I HATE being the new girl at the office... I feel awkward, clumsy and not my usual streamlined self. But can think of no better place to be new.

I've just got part time week 2 under my belt and, slowly but surely, things are slotting into place. I'm now an allocations co-ordinator for a popular and very professional nursing agency and the pace here is fast.

Shift work is involved which is something in itself totally new to me but when you're working with a team like this, the hours don't really matter. From an outsider looking in, I can sense these girls have a real bond with eachother and I feel flattered that their door has been opened to let me in too.

I have had a bit of a struggle with the profession's terminology mind. I'm just one cog in the well-oiled allocation team's machinery that takes calls from hospitals, aged care units and all manner of medical facilities who, for one reason or another, find themselves short-staffed at the eleventh hour and need to find staff for the fast approaching shift. And pronto.

We take their details, book in the shift and then check on the availability of those nursing professionals that fit the last minute bill. During my first week, I didn't know a Div 2 Med Endorsed from an RN with specials experience but my mental framework is managing to bolt itself down. The only bit of nursing role experience I have is that of the midwife ... and there's plenty of those on the shortage list round these parts too.

Last night almost killed me, mind. My shift was 2pm-11.30pm and after the majority of staff had left for home about 6pm, my manager and I were left holding the fort. It got a little heavy at times and I wondered if we'd ever get through it, but come the strike of 10.45pm, the phones stopped shrieking at us and we were able to catch up and catch our breath.

Today I'm in at 2pm but only until 9pm. That means I'll probably get to sleep about 11.30pm after I've brought my spinning head right home to Mt Martha. I can totally understand now how anyone who works shifts simply cannot go straight to bed when they get home. I had a friend in UK who would work a regular night shift and come in at 8.30am to settle down with a glass of Port. I could never get my head around that ... until now.

So my nickname of Easy Life Wife can now be cast aside with the countless others that husband has scribed for me over the past few months ... I might only be a part time worker but I'm a full time mum and even more full time party girl now I have a job that pays enough to keep me in copious amounts of lipstick and grog.

Cheers!

Getting hot hot hot

2009-11-16T21:51:00.002+11:00

HERE comes the sun. And with it, comes all the good things like alfresco socialising, beach trips and balmy evenings out.

On the flip side, the heat has brought to this air-con lacking house drowsiness, sons that bicker and parents that reach for chilled tinnies at any given opportunity.
We're not used to average daily temps hitting 35. A quick conversion for those who, like me, can't drag themselves out of the Fahrenheit era, that's a whopping thermometer-busting 95.

When we first moved into our house a few weeks ago, I was disappointed that one side of the house was always dark... in the shade and out of the spotlight. But now, this part of the house is the most used as we take shelter from the relentless rays beating down on us. It's only now that I'm really believing that there IS a massive hole in the ozone right over Australia because I can feel it.

But the good thing about Melbourne is that whatever weather is thrown at you, it always breaks after a few days. If it rains, you know it's not going to be for long. If it's windy, that'll soon change and if it's baking hot, you only have to put up with it temporarily until break day comes.

We're not even into the height of summer yet so I'm trying to acclimatise myself before the onslaught of December, January and February.

The boys wake up on school mornings all drowsy and naggy but I'm hoping that will get better as time goes on. One thing that wakes them up nicely though is the discovery of local wildlife that finds its way indoors to shelter from the sun.

Only the other day we came face to face with what I would describe a MASSIVE spider. All furry and black and very, very still. Which is always a good factor for spiders. The stiller, the better as far as I'm concerned.
He stayed there on his ceiling spot just the right amount of time for me to grab the vacuum and get him sucked right up the pole to the feverish chanting of "Go on Mum.. Go on Mum..."

So spurred on with encouragement by my boys, I disposed of the critter accordingly and watched him spin around the filter a couple of times before disconnecting the electricity supply. There was no way I was going to risk releasing the revengeful beast back into southern hemisphere society so had to be sure he was a gonna before I pulled the plug.

But I've been told it's not the big ones that are the menaces ... it's the little, tiny, itsy bitsy ones that hide in shoes that seem to be the ones to keep an eye out for. And that's probably why the Aussies all put their feet into thongs or even nothing at all...

Dream on

2009-11-09T20:52:00.002+11:00

WE'RE living in a wonderful part of the world. And that's what every Aussie round these parts will tell you. I always like to step back and watch their reactions when I ask them if they like their neck of the woods.

They almost fall over themselves with enthusiasm and it makes me feel all warm inside. I can't ever remember speaking to anyone in my entire life who was so proud of their own surroundings. And now, I have become a part of it.

Only yesterday I took the pup to the leash-free area around the corner. There, I chatted with a native for a while and after half an hour, I knew his name, where he lived, the operation his wife was due to have, the name of his dog and what he did for a living.
This dog-exercising-rendez-vous resulted in an invitation to join them for dinner and Hey Presto, there's another "friendship" under our belts.

It's so easy to get along with these people. I feel terribly embarrassed at the sheer amount of Poms on the peninsula and would say the ratio is coming in at 50:50. But then I have absolutely no need to be embarrassed as every Aussie I speak to loves us and loves the fact that we're all coming over in plane fulls to 'live the dream'.... looking at the amount of work our new house needs though and it's far from a dream but getting our own place is a major step into carving out the rest of our lives.

Our roots are down and we now have the task of turning our humble new home into something a little more impressive. It needs a couple of extensions, alfresco area, decking and a pool. But I want it now. I sit trying to make do with what's around me but deep down, I'm craving the end result that's about two years away.

For the past month, I've been picking up pieces of paper and all manner of used envelopes that show all sorts of scribblings. I daren't throw them out or tidy them away for these are the pictorial brainstorming sessions husband has when there's a new project in the pipeline.

I really thought my skip-filling-shovel-loading days were over but here we go again... I'm on on the 'barra and off for regular tip trips, putting my French manicure in jeopardy with each and every load.

So, with every two steps forward, we're anticipating going one back but it's just a matter of time until we have the house of our dreams while we continue to live it.

One good turn...

2009-11-01T15:56:00.001+11:00

MOVING out of the rental last weekend was a job in itself. Throughout the course of the week leading upto it, we'd had countless offers of help but not wanting to put anyone out, we said we'd be right...

And I thought we would be, what with me having most of the week to fill boxes, take them round to the new gaff, unload them, go back, fill some more, empty some more, fill some more... But as the week progressed, I was becoming increasingly despondent at the job ahead, that of cleaning the rental within an inch of its life in order to get the near on $2,000 bond back.

The oven had to be cleaned, so did the floors, the walls and inside the cupboards. Not forgetting the grout in the showers, the weeds in the garden and the bird muck off the windows. I set out with good intentions of a job well done but after hearing the horror stories of the hundreds who don't get back their bond due to a streaky window pane, I was losing hope ... and fast.

There's nothing worse than spending three full days cleaning a house that you're not going to live in. I couldn't even sit back and sniff the cleanliness that the eucalyptus oil had provided because I was back 'home' and the thought of cleaning that one simply filled me with dread.

So, we completed the mighty task on schedule and to say thanks to a handful of friends, I repaid their favour by helping out at their cancer charity stall in one of the local shopping malls. Our position was just outside a supermarket where the hordes of human traffic got their hands in their handbags to give and I noticed one little girl in particular eyeing up our charity merchandise.

She came over with two hands full of coins and her mum. For her 12 bucks pocket money, she didn't want the latest doll or trading card game. She wanted to buy a pink teddy and a pen and I wanted to put her on a fundraising pedestal and show her off as an example of how beautiful and considerate children can be.

It was also heartwarming for me to hear that the instigator of this fundraising achievement was the 12 year old daughter of one of my friends. She decided to apply online for a stall and help raise money in the fight for breast cancer, together with her close friend from school. On the day, they exceeded their $1,000 target and continue to add to the total, pushing up any expectations of each and every one of us.

These youngsters are our fundraising future and I find, for them to be so heartwarmingly giving in their fledgling years, inspiring in itself. Well done girls. Long may it continue.

One Mand and her dog

2009-10-26T18:10:00.002+11:00

THIS pup of ours in a menace. A mischievous ball of non-stop growing woolly fluff with a personality to die for.

He is now a fully fledged Pugh and although the children still have to be reminded to feed him and put him out for his business, they love him through and through.
He's a constant scavenger for foodscraps which annoys me no end but I suppose when all you get at mealtimes is the same old dried food, anything with a waft of MSG or sausage fat is bound to get him all fired up and ready to nab.

It's got to the point that I know EXACTLY when he's upto no good purely by his footsteps. He's always coming into our walk-in robe to steal items from my side of the closet. Usually nice, elasticy, chewy items that are small enough to smuggle out from under my nose.

But his footsteps give him away every time. The slow ... slow.... slow mooching around then quick.... Quick.... QUICK ... get out of here QUICK sort of fast paced fancy footwork results in me legging it round the living room in a frenzied attempt of tackling him to the ground and getting back the stolen property intact. A number of our smalls have become casualties before now and we are running out fast.

Just tonight, he ate the signed contract for the new house and had a go at my chicken korma. He was more than welcome to the coconut dish as it tasted nothing like what I'm used to. If he hadn't ate the contract maybe I would have been tempted to swap my lack-lustre Indian dish for just that knowing that it probably had more flavour.

When I'm doing the housework, he's right there with me. I clean the bath, he's virtually in it. I wash down the floors, his molars are around the mophead. He remains firmly by my side when I'm on the laptop and growls at the screensaver as he doesn't know it's actually him.

I don't know how he'll fare when we move to the new house down the road, around the corner and over the way.
We collected the keys on Monday after a text from the conveyancer's office informed us that settlement had taken place as planned. I was at the hairdresser's at the time indulging in some coiffure treatments so on my way back home, collected the keys.

After waiting for husband to come home from work, we all piled into the car to see our new investment. The vendors were still in the manic throes of moving out so we couldn't really get to have the look around that we wanted to but our time will come soon enough.

And there follows some real work...

The customer is always right. Right???

2009-10-19T21:31:00.001+11:00

CUSTOMERS to the shoe shop are funny creatures.

Some smile, some won't. Some try on, some don't. Some laugh and some moan, most are nice but some drone.... mostly about their bunions or their ingrown toenails or how our shoes MUST be sized wrongly as their feet don't fit into their size ... anymore.

Only last week, I learnt from my chiropractor that due to a fallen arch in my left foot, this is pretty much the reason why I, myself, don't fit into my usual size 40s anymore. I would never assume that the shoe companies have simply got it all wrong and be adamant in my thinking that I was right and they were wrong.

I did an extra shift this week at a shopping centre a good half hour drive from where the shop is. The scenario is a totally different one to the shop.
One customer came over and tried on a few styles but nothing was tickling her fancy so I recommended she made the trip to Mt Eliza where the shop carried a more extensive range.

She said she might but it was a fair distance so I had no intention of seeing this lady again. Until she re-visited me a few hours later than her initial visit. This time she came armed with a wedge of chocolate cake that she'd just put together and its corresponding recipe.

I was touched. What a kind act from a virtual stranger and someone I would more than likely never ever see again.

And last week, one lady came into the shop with a smile and a spring in her step. I asked her if she needed any help with anything and she said she'd been vacuuming at her house all morning and gave herself a right talking to. She'd been in the shop a few days earlier and had been eyeing up a pair or two. Not buying them when she saw them was preying on her mind so she unplugged the dust-sucker and got herself down to us for another try on.

This time, she went out armed with three new pairs of shoes and a handbag and what's more, a big smile on her face.

And that's exactly what it's all about.... I love serving the customers who love to be loved.

Goodbye my friends

2009-10-11T21:05:00.002+11:00

IT WAS always going to happen, but I've just had to say t'ra to our first UK visitors.

Bro-in-law and his chum have spent the final leg of their Aussie adventure with us, having arrived earlier than expected.
We had details of them dropping down on us at lunchtime on Monday but another night in their - how can I say - 'compact' camper van, they made the decision to put their foot down and get the 200km drive under their belt and get us out of bed to answer their door knocking.

I was so excited to see them, there wasn't much sleep in me that night and we've spent the last four days showing them around and giving them a peep into our lives.
To be honest, our lives haven't changed all that much over the past few months. It's more of an adjustment, certain things of which continue to require tweeking.

I'd spent a fair amount of time hoofing it round the peninsula picking up promotional literature of things to do and places to visit and compiled a sort of tourist guide for any visitors we were likely to get. It's been knocking around the house for a few months now but as soon as guests arrive, can I locate it? I've become terribly disorganised on the home front, I think the Aussie laid-back attitude is more than rubbing off on me.

So on their first day with us, I showed them round the town, the school where the boys go, the place where I get my nails done and where we buy our shopping. When school was out, we got the kayak on the roof of the car and headed to the beach. An Aussie barby followed, but not before I'd delegated the task of prawn shelling to my unsuspecting rellie.

The next day, they hit the golf course and before they left we had time for a lunchtime date at a Red Hill winery in the sun and overlooking the rolling hills of vines.

And after this, we had a final get together of a handful of friends to say hello and goodbye in one single soiree.
So as our loved ones leave these loved ones and return to their loved ones, this disjointed family life of ours continues.

Having our guests has left me feeling fulfilled ... we've ate lots, chatted lots, reminisced lots and laughed lots. Seeing husband re-united with his little bro again has struck a chord with me and it's surely harder for him to say his goodbyes than it is me.

I said goodbye to him this morning before I set off for work and drove all the way with glassy eyes. My only saving grace was that I travel on a freeway so the four windows down and the breeze of the Melbourne air dried them nicely before I got behind the counter and started to greet the day's customers.

Birthday bash

2009-10-06T23:07:00.000+11:00

I WAS a little apprehensive about the arrival of my first Aussie birthday but I need not have worried.

The day was better than I'd hoped, having spent the lunchtime of it at a local watering hole with a hefty handful of girlfriends while our husbands were in work earning the money we were spending.

They showered me with cards and gifts and I was humbled to be at the centre of all this newfound attention. Just a matter of months ago, I didn't even know these girls. Now, they form a staple part of my integration into this new life of ours. At one point, I found myself holding back the tears as I read one card that said I had brought a ray of sunshine into their lives. Blub.

Even though we're just seven months into it, I don't even feel I've lived away from here. People are amazed at our progression in such a short space of time but really, we just took it all in our stride and played with the cards we were dealt.

We arrived in the country with no mobile, address, car or bank cards. So we went out and got ourselves a mobile, address, car and bank cards. From getting a fixed abode, we then registered the ankle biters in the school most local and from there, they've taken up soccer and basketball sessions.
These sports links in themselves have cast us into mixing in other social circles and we are now in the comfortable position of choosing who we want to spend our social time with and not who we have to.

Our friends who welcomed us into their family when we first arrived continue to play a major part in our lives and I for one am thankful that our paths crossed. They have been there for us every step of the way...checking in on our progress and offering help wherever and whenever it was needed. And indeed when it continues to be needed. They are priceless.

But my birthday celebrations were a little jaded as my mind couldn't stop itself from wandering 10,000 miles north and to how much my UK chums play such an important part in my life. I had gifts and cards from overseas to stand among my local gifts and part of me felt torn.

Although the lighter side showed itself this week when, more than two weeks after the date of my birthday, a gift arrived in the post from a friend and former colleague. It had spent 10 days in quarantine before it was delivered by the AusPost man yesterday morning. Only she could send an item that had the whole of Australian Immigration reeling. Items of wood, shell or anything perishable are considered no-go areas to be received at the final leg of the 10,000 mile journey here but this one of hers got through after a full scale investigation by officers!

It brought back many a menacing memory. She's a case, that one!

The North South Divide

2009-09-29T20:33:00.001+10:00

I received a gift not long after we arrived in Australia and in preparation for our forthcoming house move, I unearthed it in a kitchen drawer clear out.

My 'Australian Slang Dictionary for All International Visitors' brought many a smile and guffaw to me when I was first given it and even now, way past being an "international visitor", I continue to have my favourites.

Although I'm trying to get my slang upto scratch, there's just something really Pommy about me still. Some of the words used here just don't go with a UK accent. When I'm pleased about something, I'll try and get with it and say 'awesome' and when I'm in a forgiving mood, I put out the familiar and well-used phrase of 'no worries.'
But I just don't have the twang that carries it off to make it sound bearable. My 'awesome' is 'orsum' not 'aarsam' and my 'no worries' is more 'no wurries' more than the native 'naaaa waarrrries'.

I can't wait to get my Aussie tongue either but I've been told when you're past 30, it's unlikely you ever will. Unlike my seven year old who's getting more like a local every day with his twang and terminology.

A lot of the entries in my Aussie Slang Dictionary are old hat to me. For many years, I've been using the likes of "have a gander" for taking a look, "in the sticks" when referring to remote areas and even "get a wriggle on" which means to hurry up. Lots of the unprintable ones make me smile and some of the more tame one-liners focus on fruit loops (crazy people) and shark biscuits (new surfers).

I'm also finding a difference between the newspaper styles of UK and Oz. Back in Leader-land, a news in brief could go something like...
"EARLIER this week, a drunken man disgraced himself as he went out to stock up on provisions.
Upon arrival at the off-licenced service station, the man with obvious false teeth helped himself to a sausage sandwich after which he became severely ill.
The attending cashier became confused at the man's extremely odd behaviour and after asking for the cash owed, the man fled in the direction of waiting relatives.
This underhanded act caused serious aggravation for the young sales assistant who remained annoyed for the remainder of the day."

If I was working for an Australian newspaper, the same piece would probably ring to the tune of....
"JUST this week, a dude as full as a boot rocked up at the local servo and bottle-o to grab a slab and some moo juice.
A liquid laugh later, the galah showed off his graveyard chompers as he sunk them into a snag sango.
Like a pickpocket at a nudist camp, the sheila on duty asked him for the moolah but the hoon took off with a lead foot towards his rellies.
This shonky act yanked the chain of the sales assistant who stacked on a big old bluey for the rest of the arvo."

Funny as.

Back on the treadmill

2009-09-21T21:14:00.000+10:00

WITH age comes illness so it's coming as no surprise to me - now I have to get my hand in my pocket and pay for medical attention - that things are not seeming quite right.

It's probably just the timing of it all but since I've taken a change in job, I've started twingeing in all the wrong places. I know I'm a bit of a hypochondriac at times but for the past month or two, I've been putting up with these aches and pains on the understanding they'll diminish once all the newfound muscles I now find myself using have got to grips with the strain I'm putting them under.

An initial consultation with the chiropractor last week brought to light that I have a fallen arch in my left foot and after a bit of poking and prodding around, she referred me to trot off for some X-rays so she knew what she was working with in time for the next appointment.

From this I have just returned, after a quick Chai Latte catch up on the coast with a friend and her mum, with whom I relayed the story. The doctor taking the pictures was a lovely guy. A true easygoing fun to be around Aussie who led me into his department of camera equipment and showed me to a changing room that would make Mr Benn's look like a palatial mansion. In this tiny but bijou room, I had to wrestle off my boots and 15 other items of clothing and jewellery while competing for space with a chair and a box of disposable gowns.

I was told to leave just one item of my clothing on and we all know what that is... but after closer inspection of the gown with its severe lack of rear fastenings, I was a tad horrified and wished I'd opted for a bigger set of underwear for this appointment.
It's not easy having to stand pretty much spreadeagled against a white screen with your nose pointed north, both hands on your head and your dignity left outside the door.
While I was being contorted into all sorts of positions to get the best shot of my spine, all I could think of was how much (or how little) this guy was getting an eyeful of behind (literally).

He probably wasn't even looking at all, it was just my overactive imagination I guess, but trying to have a dignified conversation with someone you just met and wearing nothing but a piece of Jaycloth had me in cringetastic mood.

But what a nice guy he was. After I'd climbed back into my gear, he had developed the negatives and was taking a quick peek at them before slotting them in an envelope for me to take away for chiropractic inspection.
At one point during the photography, he asked me to open my mouth as wide as I could and he clicked away. I thought he was winding me up initially but when I saw the picture of that shot, all became clear.
Through an open moosh, an X-ray can pick out the tiny bone that holds your head onto your spine. Doc was telling me of countless stories of people who have damaged this bone unbeknowns to them, either as a result of diving or car accidents, and years later go along for routine chiro sessions, only to be leaving the couch as a quadriplegic patient.

A simple check of the intact state of this bone then allows chiro to work wonders and crack bones where they see fit to send their patients on the road to recovery, not a wheelchair.

I'm not ready to be heading for the scrapheap just yet, I just want to make sure I'm in tip top condition to be filling skips in the months that follow while renovations at our first Aussie property get underway.

And I thought my days on the barrow were over...

Time will tell

2009-09-16T21:21:00.001+10:00

THERE are some advantages to coming to live out in Australia.

Because the UK television channel here is so far behind in its running schedule, we this week watched the first aired episode of Gavin and Stacey.
UK audiences raved about this show that focusses on a young Londoner and a Welsh girl who spend hours on the phone and finally meet up in the capital and follows their love story with its hilarities along the way down the prenuptial aisle.

Listening to friends rave on about the series, I've always felt I'd missed out by not catching the show in the UK so I'm glad we've been given a reprieve to finally grab a glimpse of it, even if we are on the other side of the world.

Another favourite we caught on Friday night was a Graham Norton show. Now this type of chat show is relatively timeless, apart from the current topics he touches on, but on Friday's show he was wearing a poppy, re-enforcing the message that we're at least 10 months behind the show's original TV debut.

As the warmer weather creeps up on us, I'm feeling that the gogglebox won't be tuned into half as much as it has been over past weeks and I'm considering building up the courage to mention us cancelling the Foxtel satellite contract for the time being.

Since we've had the puppy, he's providing more than enough entertainment for us. Recently, we were more than amused at the sight of the dog knawing his way through a bone. We were advised by friends and fellow dog-owners that while he's still a pup, we have to be able to play our parts as "pack leaders" and be able to get whatever we have to from the vice-like grip of his jaw. Doubly amusing was the sight of husband attempting to get the thing off him.

Totally unprepared for the growling and grizzly reception he got, husband was shocked to see as much of the dog's teeth as the white's of his eyes - all mad and fury-filled - so armed himself accordingly for the task with a rolled up newspaper and the end of the vacuum cleaner.

The week after, he was MORE than dressed for the event, sporting three jackets, full faced helmet and a pair of welding gloves. This, we now have to do on a weekly basis, otherwise we'll have problems in the future with him getting all territorial over his food.

Can't wait for next week!

Gluttons for punishment

2009-09-07T12:59:00.002+10:00

ONCE again, we find ourselves on the property ladder. Right on the bottom rung again but for now, that's the way it needs to be.

Slowly but surely, we've spent recent months building up some sort of credit history that proves we're capable of becoming land owners Down Under. So we've viewed a couple of beauties - out of our price range it has to be said - so the one we've bought is a place that needs a bit of an overhaul.

It was built just ten years ago but by whom, I cannot begin to imagine. The place has the same design as one of the shoeboxes I am now more than familiar with bearing in mind my new line of work, and whoever bought this place was always going to have to have a keen eye and a whole heap of vision. T'da .. enter stage right, the Pughs and their never-ending "love" for dust, muck and hard work.

Just a two or three minute car ride away from where we are now is where our new place stands. A single storey three bedroomed place that's crying out for an extension and pool instalment. It's nothing like the house I've dreamed of owning out here, but in time, we will be able to mould it exactly to those thoughts that featured so prominently in my pre-emigration mind. And unusual for round these parts, it comes on a decent sized block with plenty of north-facing back garden (north is good for us!)

For the past month, I've picked up pieces of paper and backs of used envelopes that feature the new look designs of our new gaff. Husband is the king of scribbling and over the years, I've seen enough of his pen to paper mindwork to stuff a mattress. He's itching to get out of this rented place and start work on a place we can call our own, The only thing we can get stuck into here is mowing the lawn and even that's been limited over the winter months having had so much rain.

So with the onset of sunnier climes, the boys will no doubt swap the TV remote control for basketballs and scooters and husband and I will trade in our laid-back lifestyle for sledgehammers and skips. I'm not sure how my French manicure is going to hold out but with any luck, the enticement of an extra dollar in their weekly pocket money may see the boys helping us out with some donkey work.

We plan to spend the next year or so renovating and modernising it to make it our own and hope to get it finished well before any overseas visitors. I just hope when Dad comes over, he brings his wheelbarrow and my bricklaying brother!

Pointing the finger

2009-09-01T22:02:00.002+10:00

HMMM.... The outcome is not quite what I expected, but I've just been fitted out with ten shiny new fingernails.

Nail bars over here, as in UK, are big business and fed up of my current type of DIY falsies flinging themselves off all over the place, I thought it time to invest in a proper set.

The final nail (excuse the pun) in the coffin for me was when I was at work serving a customer looking for a pair of boots. There were boxes and boots and bits of cardboard and packaging all over the place and it was only after I'd taken her money that I noticed I was an 'end-digit' missing.

A quick scan or two up and down the shopfloor came up with zilch so it either had to be lying dormant among the shoe racks somewhere or inside one of the boots I'd just sold. And I was mortified at the thought of the possibility of it nestling among the now bagged-up knee length leather, making this their final resting place. But then, at least their new owners would get a free toe tickling session compliments of the new girl at JackRiver.com. Wouldn't get that service from any other shoe shop.

So, within half an hour, my extremities have been buffed, drilled, glued, painted and now look something like a court jester's shoes. Not sure I like the "curled-up-at-the-end" look but until they grow a bit, I'm stuck with them - literally.

This nail bar was like nothing else I've seen. A Thai couple, between them, had three nail customers and a massage client in the corner on the go concurrently. For the time I was there, they spun the plates getting us all done in record time. Watching the little guy dart around the place was an eye-opener and reminded me of a stresshead contestant in the Generation Game. All we needed was Brucey to walk in for a pedicure and that would be it.

Faster than a speeding bullet, he buffed my real nail within an inch of its life with an electrical gadget and stuck on the whitest of white plastic nail tips... whether I wanted them or not. No questions asked, he trimmed them all down to the length he wanted and then grappled with some acrylic and what seemed to resemble a wallpaper pasting brush to form a covering over the nail tip.

I have confidence that these slipshod and more than rushed rhino's toenails' won't be twanging themselves anywhere for quite a while but looking at them, I can't think of anything I'd like more. If nothing else, it should give me the incentive to grow my own and regain control over my own pinkies.

The highs and lows of impulse shopping

2009-08-24T20:40:00.002+10:00

I'M SO not used to being on my feet all day. Having just put in a full shift at the shop, my feet were singing to me.

So after locking up and driving home, it came as a huge relief to sit down for half an hour before going out to meet friends for dinner at the local watering hole. I couldn't stand up long enough to wait in the queue at the bar so husband took my place and got the wine ordered - quick as.

Throughout the day, I met, served and chatted with a huge cross section of customers, all there with one thing in common. To find something new for their lower extremities. It never fails to amaze me how people do their shopping for shoes. Some take an age and a day walking up and down the shop umm-ing and arr-ing while stroking their chins and glancing down at their tootsies. Others just try one shoe on and there's the occasional few that don't even try them on at all.

But on Saturday, a customer bought a pair of trainer-type slip ons. She was more than happy with them after a few strolls up and down the shopfloor's polished board runway and off she went with her new 'must-have'. During the course of the afternoon, some two hours later, she was back.
"I'd like a refund on these shoes I've just bought please" she declared. There was nothing faulty about them and from my years of shopping experience on the other side of the till, traders are not necessarily obliged to give a refund on non-faulty goods. She wasn't happy with the offer of a credit note as she said she was from out of the area and wouldn't be round these parts again.

Hmmm. I could see this was turning into a right sticky wicket. So I put on my most tactful and concerned face and pointed out that as there was, in fact, nothing wrong with them, I wasn't in a position to be able to offer her what she wanted. And that was her coinage back in her purse where it had come from.

At this point, the hairs on the back of her neck started to stick up, her nostrils flared and her mouth went all tight-lipped-like. Not an attractive look but if it got her her cash back, I don't think she cared. She pointed out that there was no sign up displaying the shop's return and refund policy and felt it was her God-given right to be able to change her mind as often as she changed her underwear.

I thought it was pretty obvious really. Only last week, I bought a piece of beef from the butchers. When I'd got it home, I'd gone off the idea but not once did the thought of taking it back to the boucher de quartier and exchanging it for a lamb chop spring to my mind. You just don't do it. And more importantly, you shouldn't expect it.

As a goodwill measure, my boss took over the fast-becoming-stalemate-situation and offered a refund, while re-enforcing the message that she really didn't have to do it. And she didn't. At the end of the day, she's running a business and providing a service.

It's the rash decisions that some people make that get right under one's skin. Mine for one.

Baby bore emerges

2009-08-17T21:10:00.003+10:00

OVER the past few days, I've become what I always said I wouldn't.... a baby bore.

Only this time, it's not over my two boys. I've gone ga-ga over a new addition to the family. Not one of my own I must add. And no, I haven't gone all Angelina Jolie-esqe... we've just taken the plunge and bought a 9 week old puppy. A furniture-chewing-ankle-biting-furry-bearlike puppy.

Getting a dog is not a decision we've taken lightly. Before we moved out here, this was one of the two things on the children's promise list. The other is a pool but seeing as though that's going to be a wee while off, a puppy seemed to be the obvious compromise. And over past weeks, I've sat on the laptop doing tentative research into what life would be like with a new addition to the family.

We all had criteria to comply with. I wanted one that didn't moult. The boys wanted one that'd be playful and loving and husband's only request was that it didn't poo all over the place. Although the former two were relatively easy to get under our belt, the latter, however, wasn't.

But with a majority vote, we decided to opt for a Labradoodle. Not wanting to state the obvious, he's a cross between a labrador and a poodle and his name is Matlan. He was always Matlan. Even before we had him, he was always going to be Matlan.
It's a combination of the names of the boys' best friends they left behind in UK back in February and they concocted the name between them months ago. I was thrilled when they came up with this name, it's testament to the friendships that we find ourselves enjoying throughout our lives.

Friends and family have asked for the odd photograph of pup but I'm finding that a challenge in itself as I clamber down to his level and get my zoom lens ready. Only for it to be pounced on, licked and then chewed in a grapple-like bear-hug. I finally managed to grab a shot of him just before he settled down for a nap and sent it to a few friends. Some replied asking if I'd knitted him myself and another said he was like an extra from Planet of the Apes!

As I tap this out, he's lying on my feet and as I log off and re-start my housework, he'll be there with me every step of the way. Sweeping the floor suddenly got harder and we can't wait until he's all jabbed up and out walking the streets with us.
His 'freedom' will co-incide with the return of warmer weather so we're looking forward to getting him on the beach and in the sea. Not looking forward to the sand he'll trap in his woolly coat that'll deposit itself all over the house but I have to take the rough with the smooth after all...

Shoes are a lifesaver...

2009-08-04T11:17:00.001+10:00

I FIND myself the new girl at the 'office' again this week. Twice in as many months. Only my new employment isn't the usual one I go for. It's as diverse as it can get.

Unhappy in my former role as a graphic designer at a local publishing company for one reason or another, I was coming home each night after a long days' work and searching the job websites for alternative roles.
I really wanted part time and I really wanted a job that I didn't dread going into each day. I've never been a clock-watcher but in the office job, this is exactly what I found myself doing. Willing the hours away until morning break. Praying for the clock to speed up for lunch and then so much looking forward to the strike of 5.30pm when I was bolting out the door, into the car and on the freeway back to Mornington and the boys in my life.

No sooner had I got home and had some dinner with them and it was pretty much time for their spellings practice and then bed. I just wasn't seeing them and I wasn't happy. I was exhausting the websites for an alternative office job. One receptionist role required the candidate to be fluent in Mandarin and another had to hold a forklift driving licence. I'm no stranger to multi-tasking but forklift driving while answering the phone in a business suit? Please.

So, husband suggested I tap in 'retail' as part of the search. With nothing to lose, I followed his advice and stumbled across a job that had my name written all over it.

It was local. It was part time. It was a better hourly rate. It offered commission. And it was every woman's dream ... in a shoe shop. This is such a diverse change for me. I've always felt comfortable in the confines of an office but it was more than time for a change and this opportunity was irresistible.

On the Wednesday, I sent over my resume and crossed my fingers. On the Thursday, I took a phone call asking to meet with the boss. On the Friday, we met and on the Saturday the doorbell at home rang and standing there, clutching flowers and a card, was one of my new colleagues. Although I didn't know this until I opened the card which contained the job offer. I was overwhelmed, delighted, relieved, over the moon and flattered.

To be taken on in the world of retail with absolutely no experience is gratifying. I'm no stranger to shopping and have spent countless hours on the other side of the counter but I've always been the one putting in the PIN number. But now it's my turn to see it from the other side. Having a nice boss speaks volumes in my book and loyalty works both ways.

I have a good feeling about this...

Time for a change

2009-07-30T12:14:00.002+10:00

LAST night, we clinked our way up the road to some new friends who were having a social soiree.

Packed up with a curry and plentiful amounts of grog, we expanded our networking circle by another 10. There were northerners, southerners, scousers, Scottish and us, Welshies, so a good smattering of UK presence.

Come the strike of midnight, we were drinking shots out of eggcups and promising to keep in touch and make a date for another night. Alongside my promises for countless jewellery, clothing and even Tupperware parties.

I was going to give my liver a welcome break and offered to drive, but something happened during the early part of the afternoon that made me want to celebrate.
Yesterday, I was offered a job and for one reason and another, it came just at the right time.

So yesterday, I was a graphic designer. Today, I am the new girl at a shoe shop and taking part in the success story that is JackRIVER.com.

This local woman started selling shoes from home and over the past two years has outgrown her back bedroom and is due in the next week to open a shop in an affluent part of the peninsula.
A 10 minute drive and I'll be in work, and what's more, it's part-time so I'll get to spend more time with my boys. It sounds simply perfect for me. I wanted something totally different and totally different this is.

I get a better hourly rate than what I do now and anyone who knows what things have been like for me over the past couple of weeks, this couldn't have come at a better time.

Being part time now means the boys get to have the puppy they've longed for since we've been here and I'll get to spend balmy evenings on the beach playing cricket with them without coming home in the dark, all tired, grumpy and wincing at the pile of ironing in the corner that never gets tackled.

Things can only get better.

Grogged out

2009-07-28T09:16:00.001+10:00

THESE days, you can tell what mood I'm in purely by casting a glance at the label on my wine bottle.

The liquour stores here are grog-warehouses, packed to the rafters with hooch and moonshine galore. We can get all the brands of European beers we know and love and the Australian wine shelves are something to go at. If I had a different bottle every night, I'd never get through them all before my time on this earth is done.

A lot of the restaurants here are BYO (bring your own). Something I'm not used to yet is kerchinking my way to the table and popping corks DIY-style all over the place. My next investment is a two-bottle insulator so I can keep my grog by my side and all chilled out.
Last time I had one of those things was when the boys were babies to keep their bottles warm. Oh how things have changed...

So, when I've had a good day at the office, I'll go for the Heaven's Gate and when it's been challenging, it'll be a hefty serving of Arrogant Frog that goes in my glass.
I often have more than my fair share of Promised Land because that's exactly where we are and when I'm feeling mischievous, I'll pick up some Mad Fish or Monkey's Cousin.

After spending a little too much on my essential items like a mascara wand that vibrates to separate my painted lashes, I'll choose a bottle of Cock & Bull. Because that's exactly what I dish out to convince husband it was only half the price I actually paid for it. And when it's been applied, I go straight for a Queen Adelaide Shiraz Cabernet... because that's exactly who I feel like with my lengthy lashes a-plenty. Thank you Ms Lauder.

Hitting the heartstring pulling times

2009-07-19T09:21:00.002+10:00

THE ever-inevitable has happened this week. Pangs of homesickness have thrust themselves on me ... particularly as I "witness" two of my best ever friends celebrate milestone birthdays as merely an overseas-onlooker.

I'd arranged over the past weeks to transfer money to be a part of the present buying process and have kept in touch by email and phone on what gifts had been chosen but not taking an active part in that has made me feel a little jaded.

The top hat on it all came at 5.30am on Thursday when I'd arranged to make a surprise phone call to the surprise party - 8.30pm UK time. The guests had had a few glasses of wine, I could tell, and my chum was obviously brimming with excitement at having landed in the middle of her guests to lap up the birthday moment.

I was okay up until the moment she said "... there's two empty chairs here, get a flight quick!" And from that point on, my eyes started to well and my voice quivered.

I'm glad her background noise was at fever pitch because I wouldn't like to think just because I couldn't hold the situation together, it would spoil her special night. So we exchanged our words of love and hung up ... she went back to her lobster thermador and I went back to my pillow and cried into it until the sun came up and it was time for work.

And if that wasn't enough, the celebrations continued over the weekend and during Sunday afternoon, the phone here rang and I found myself talking again with the birthday girl herself, having just arrived home after a night in the city.
With her she had another tanked up chum who I haven't spoken to since I left. Even this conversation ended in tears, but not mine this time. Now THAT made a refreshing change!

In a day or two, it'll have to be done all over again when special friend number 2 hits the big 40. Only this time, I think I'll put the call in when I'VE had a few glasses of the fizzy stuff and it's morning over there. It'll give me the Dutch courage I require so much before picking up the handset and hearing about life overseas and what I'm missing out on.

Some people are so terribly irreplaceable. And it's these times that hit me the hardest. But it's ME that's moved away so has to be ME that has to get over it. I simply need to give myself a good talking to and look forward to welcoming them all for visits.

But I'm dreading the "goodbyes" before I even get the "hellos"...

More school holidays...??

2009-07-12T14:34:00.000+10:00

THE days I've been dreading have finally caught up with me.

I've now put in a fair few weeks of full time work and then the schools go and break up for two week's holiday. ARRGH. I need my mum. And and my mother-in-law. And other friends and family who usually rally together to help us out with free childcare.

But a week in and we've lived to tell the tale. Sharing the kid-cover responsibilities has been a four-fold combination of newbie friends, well-trusted neighbours, official childcare and holiday leave.

I haven't worked long enough to accrue any annual leave yet so I worked all through the holidays, just dropping the boys off at their designated daily destinations each morning. I never usually felt bad about working through the school breaks but this time, however, I've had pangs of guilt. They've been sent to all parts of the peninsula and have had a great time being spoilt rotten by our newfound carers but I'm always humbled by the efforts of everyone else when it comes to me and my workplace commitments.

I've always worked a full week (some former colleagues may disagree with that!) but really feel, without my UK network, that part time hours would be a much more acceptable option. I am finding full time a bit of struggle and spend the weekends catching up on housework and laundry but I don't mind it too much now because it's winter.

Come the summer, the laundry won't get a look in as I intend to spend my daylight hours on the beach with my boys, watching them kayak their way around Fisherman's Beach and playing cricket on the sand 'til the sun sets. Times like that are priceless and don't last forever and quite simply, I won't allow myself to miss them. Even if it does mean the breakfast dishes remain in the kitchen sink at dinner time and the ironing basket continues to be an overflowing one.

Mum...? You got your airline ticket booked yet?? I need you...!

"Brrrr"ing on the Spring

2009-07-07T19:15:00.004+10:00

OPENING up the Google website on June 21 told me, by it's topical graphics, that it was officially the first day of winter.

'Winter' and 'June' are two words I have never before put together. But here they are, hand in hand, down under on the other side of the globe.
Although I'll openly admit I feel a little envious that you guys over there are enjoying sweltering temperatures but for winter, this is one I'm not minding in the slightest.

Today in Melbourne, it's been a lowly 18C - not exactly cracking the flags but a winter temperature like that I can more than welcome, thank you very much.
When we left Manchester back in February it was -7C. We arrived in Australia in time for that weekend's fatal Black Saturday when thermometer-busting 45C temps were recorded all over the region.
Now, I'm not particularly good with my sums but you don't really have to sit down and do the math to realise how much of a difference that actually was.
From what I remember it was like having a hairdryer blow in your eyes for a week... not pleasant to the locals but to us it was a novelty and we soaked it up accordingly.

So yes, I am wearing a jacket to go to work in the mornings, and today I even had to button it up, but generally, come midday the sun puts its hat on and it can get to an average high of 16C. Not bikini weather by any stretch but short sleeves are an acceptable item of clothing, providing you're doing something and not sitting down still and inactive for too long.
I suppose I'm still wearing what I would be at this time over there, but just have to bear in mind I have to keep myself on the go to keep warm.

On the day I write this, I see that London was enjoying temperatures of 27C - comparable to our European cousins in Rome, Athens and Barcelona. In fact, you Brits have not been far behind Tel Aviv and Hong Kong who shined in at 30 and 31 respectively. So yes, I'm green as...

But my turn for sunshine will come and I look forward to Spring with one of my best British stiff upper lips.

Earning a crust

2009-06-28T15:10:00.002+10:00

WORKING 9 to 5 would be a bonus. But now I've finally secured some full time employment, full time is exactly what it is.

I leave the house at 8.20am and get home for 6pm and the days are long for this working girl who hasn't earned a cent since December 23.

I know, I know... I shouldn't complain. I'm on the ladder to employment success so I should consider myself lucky. But half of me just wants to put the clock back and have me sitting back at my Leader workstation looking after all my loyal correspondents and having the odd daily giggle or two, three, four, five or six with my colleagues.

I have made the right decision in coming out here and I realise it's going to be difficult to re-discover a mirror image of the fantastic job I voluntarily gave up - but the facts remain ... it's taken the best part of three months for me to be back on the payroll and I thought finding work would be so, so much easier. I mean... I'm such a good worker. Loyal. Trustworthy. Dependable. Punctual. Flexible. Personable. But work for me out here hasn't been forthcoming. At all.

In fact, a part time office role I know of has, in the past three days, attracted some 180 applications. Competition is fierce and the pressure is on but having spent the best part of two months on a daily prowl of the pages of the Australian job websites, paid work is minimal and you should count yourself lucky if you've got it.

So I do. Count myself lucky. I'm working at a fast-paced publishing company and have been thrown in right at the deep end. I showed up to clock on well within time on Monday morning all bright eyed and bushy tailed only to have the wind taken out of my sails after the MD told me my fellow 'graphic designer' was off on holiday for the week. Sink or swim were the options so I got my waterwings out of my handbag and sailed through the week. I say 'sailed' in the broadest sense... spluttered would be more like it.

So, I survived the week ... just. I now know all there is to about Adobe Photoshop, tifs, jps and artwork to follow. Granted, I had a fair understanding of all this before but flying solo and coming up with the goods single-handedly is a totally different ball game. I was spoilt at the Leader. I had my picture desk colleagues at my constant beck and call and I only wish they'd been with me this week to help me in my 42 and a half hours of need...

On the bottom rung of the employment ladder

2009-06-24T21:23:00.001+10:00

TOMORROW, I will be the new girl at the office. I've landed a job at a publishing company and to be honest, I'm feeling a little nervous.

Not only do I still need the sat-nav system to help me get there, I also need to get the boys to school, drive the 20km trip, find a parking space and hoof it to the office. And all by 9am. However will I manage?

Nostalgically looking back with fondness, I had it easy in the UK. A 4-minute car ride separated my kitchen sink from my community news computer and there was on-site car parking aplenty.
It's been a long time coming, but me back in a job has brought with it relief. Not so much in the cash stakes but it was getting to the stage where my get up and go had got up, legged it round the block a couple of times, come back and locked the door on itself.

I heard one sad story a few nights ago in that a British family had come out on a sponsorship visa, the husband's firm offering him the chance to relocate to their Aussie branch.
They'd been here a month and he was made redundant, leaving them with no other option than to return to their starting blocks over the water.

I would have been devastated if that had happened to us. The first month is most definitely the hardest and to get through that and then have such a shocking piece of news is hard. Their container of personal belongings was probably just docking as they were boarding the plane back to British soil.

Due to red tape and a lack of identity, it took us the best part of a month to simply get a mobile phone, car and secure a house to rent. Then followed the boys starting school and learning to start again in building roads into new friendships.

Even I have stood at the school pretty much waiting for someone to make eye contact with me and strike up a conversation and it's hard. But after muscling my way in on a couple of social events, I can now stand and chat at the school gate with the rest of the parents. The ice has been broken.

There's loads of Brits at the school our boys go to and sometimes it can feel like 'Us and Oz' but I never wanted purely to rotate in Pommy circles.
I wanted to get out here and put myself about with the locals and it's only now, some five months in, that I'm no longer feeling like the square peg in a round hole and fitting in is becoming a tad easier, thanks to some key people who have taken on board what we're going through in carving out a new life.

2009-06-13T10:48:00.001+10:00

WE made an impromptu visit into the city this weekend.

Other half always tends to get these hair-brained "let's go-Go-GO" ideas when I'm suffering a hangover so after a couple of Panadols, we set off.
Leaving the sunshine of the peninsula behind, we found some hotel accommodation and unpacked our toothbrushes. We'd been told that a trip to the casino was a must-do so we gathered some directions from the hotel reception staff and headed off.

There was just one problem. The outfit I was wearing when we left home - in the sunshine - soon deemed totally the wrong one after we found ourselves walking the streets in the rain.
Sporting white trousers and flip-flops, sorry, thongs, I found myself aqua-planing my way around the city's walkways and felt no way as chic and cosmopolitan as my tram-riding counterparts as I squelched around in my mud-splashed and now virtually transparent lower body clothing.

I always wear the wrong thing. Take today for example... I've sat with the laptop for the lion's share of daylight hours looking for jobs and checking emails, wearing clothes obviously but nothing on my feet.
Too idle to make a sidestep into the robe for a pair of woolly slipper socks, I sat there tapping away at the keys until my extremities started to turn blue. At one point, I started to look somewhat patriotic, what with the white of my skin and the red of my fingertips after a seven hour stint at the QWERTY. And as for the stars ... I was seeing those as well after being on the jobhunting websites for the day.

I wonder which path fate will set me on in the world of work. I could really do with persuading my former editors back there if they can put it to the Board to set me up to do my community news pages remotely from 10,000 miles away. It's not such an impossibility. Not with today's technology. Surely??
I would just be sitting in a different room, in a different time zone with a different deadline. But the same old me giving the same one hundred and ten per cent.

All those in favour, lobby me at mandi.pugh@gmail.com and I'll pass your comments on...

Shower sharing

2009-06-08T19:38:00.002+10:00

I ALWAYS said I'd feel like a fully-fledged Aussie after the completion of three things... continuous barbecues, being bitten by something and sharing showers.

Now, as liberated as the latter sounds, it's not so big a deal. I frequently share my showers these days. Not with a handsome stranger or anything like that, but a mop bucket. A lowly mop bucket. A piece of plastic that is systematically saving the planet. Or so I'd like to think.

Every morning, we greet eachother and purely by waiting for the warm water to filter through to the showerhead, it's upto the halfway level and rising.

Seeing as though, being an even-numbered house, we are restricted to watering the garden between the hours of 6am and 8am on a Wednesday and a Saturday, I do my bit in all things environmental by chucking the daily regime remnants over the natives. Plants that is, not the neighbours.

But as summer is now a long distant memory, winter watering of all things green can take a back seat. June marks the official start of winter - which I continue to struggle to get my Welsh head around - and I'm told that there's "worse wintry weather to come in July and August."
Worse wintry weather? In July and August?? That's an outrage. I'm simply not yet adjusted to having bad weather in what is usually so pleasant in UK weather terms.
But that said, I suppose when the locals expect "worse wintry weather", they actually get about 12C. So armed with that information, we've spent the day hot-footing it around the homemaker centres to pick up a tumble dryer. I've lasted until now before investing in the luxury, but I'd simply had a bellyful of hanging three loads of wet washing over a cheap and flimsy clothes horse, situated strategically over one of the tiny ducted heating vents in the floor.

Going back to the being bitten bit, I spent a couple of hours weeding the garden the other day that resulted in me itching the living daylights out of what I thought was a midgy bit on my foot. 24-hours later, the scratchy site had swelled up into a very attractive sort of blister. Ever the optimist, I continued to splatter antiseptic cream on it in the hope it would go away, although it didn't help my mental state with husband came home from work telling me he'd been told it was probably a nibble from a bull-ant or a white tailed spider. A spider bite?
If I'd been in UK, where life-threatening and killer spiders were regular visitors to my bushes, I would've been down the doctors' like a dose of salts but here, the £65 fee you have to cough up for an appointment kept me firmly at home. Being an optimist.

I was told by friends to keep an eye on the swelling and to get to the medical centre should it get worse. But, as I sit here, tapping this piece out, I remain alive and kicking and still enjoying the Queen's birthday bank holiday. Now, why don't they have one of these in the land of her residence?

Happy birthday Ma'am... fancy a tinny?

Preparing for the Poms

2009-06-02T08:52:00.001+10:00

LATE autumn in Melbourne remains a very mixed sort of bag. There are no rustic leaves in piles on the ground or that biting sort of coldness that come hand in hand with the same season in UK and some days can even reach degreeage of 22.

Take today for example. Husband left for work at 4.30am, welcomed to his car by a layer of windscreen frost. This has been the case for a week or two. Or so he tells me. Personally I would have no idea of anything that happens at that time of the new day so I take his word for it.

So, for the walk to school, I got myself togged up in my woolly finest, boots and furry collared gilet that I've been told, on more than one occasion, that I look like a character from the Flintstones. And I'd like to think Wilma more so than Fred....

When we left the house at 8.45am, there was a smattering of dew on the grass and that crisp sort of air that gets deep into your lungs. I'm usually back within 10 minutes so the air ducted heating stayed on to greet me on my return. But by this stage, I'd had a brisk walk in the cool air - in my woolly finest, boots and furry collared gilet - and to open the door to an artificial 30-degree blast had me stripping off sharpish.
The days are bizarre and have me scratching my head at what to cover myself with each day. Just now, I'm on my third change of outfit for the day and before dusk falls, you can be sure I'll be back at the couture starting blocks - all Flintstone-esque.

When I'm chatting to friends and family back there, they're shocked when I tell them it's on the cool side just now. I think the word "Australia" conjurs up images of year-round thermometer busting temperatures with balmy evenings down at the beach.
But down in Victoria, we don't get that endless and bountiful supply of Vitamin D like our neighbours in the north. We simply have to boost our intake with copious amounts of salmon, mackerel and Swiss cheese.

Now we're getting more settled by the minute, we're more than ready to take in our first batch of visitors ... but the timing is all wrong. Without the weather, the beach is pretty much a no-go, without the sun, a visit to the city's ice-bar would be out of the question and without the guarantee of warmth on your bones, who wants to sit on a plane for 21 hours to go somewhere that's climate replicates the one they've just left?

As we wait patiently for spring in September, we look forward to welcoming our first confirmed visitors in October. The golf courses and peninsula wineries will be exhausted by our visits and maybe even the kayak we shipped over will get an airing at the local beach. Bring on the Brits...

Tuning in

2009-05-25T14:54:00.000+10:00

I'M in love with Victor Meldrew. And Frank Spencer. And Rodney Trotter. I've even got all unnecessary over Ken Barlow.

Never before have I gotten excited over tuning into One Foot in the Grave or even other soaps I never gave the time of day including Emmerdale but now we've had Foxtel installed, I'm as happy as a kangaroo in a boxing ring.

Back in Blighty, I hardly ever sat long enough to watch the final chapter of anything that featured on the small screen. Now, and until the novelty wears off, I'm in front of the gogglebox soaking up every last bit of anything dishing out a Pommy accent.

So last night, I enjoyed my first Ozzie Corrie ... only I couldn't work out where I was upto in the storyline. It's more than three months since I've clapped eyes on the credit rolling cobbles and more than familiar theme tune and last night's episode was showing the scenes of Gail suffering from memory loss and trying to piece together how she came to fall down the stairs at her home to end up on crutches.

Now maybe it's me with the memory loss, but I can't for the life of me remember whether it's me falling so far behind or the UKTV channel itself.
But now I know it's the latter as I've just tuned into the subsequent episode to see Paul squirm as his dodgy insurance claim at the restaurant he set fire to falls apart around his Duckworth ears.
The only shows coming in as marginally older than these ageing soap episodes feature On the Buses with Reg Varney and re-runs of 'Allo 'Allo and Are You Being Served...?

So, while some sort of familiarity has been finally restored in the gogglebox department, the only thing I have to get over now is regaining some of the same when I'm out provision shopping for hours on end.

I gaze all blurry-eyed at the shelves trying to match my former shopping lists with the array of products I'm now faced with. I'm looking for beef and I get blade, when I want Cheddar cheese, I'm offered 'Tasty' and when I fancy some Ragu, I get Leggo.

Every mealtime has an element of surprise as the Aussie way of life learning curve continues....

Anyone for coffee? ... hang on, need to go on a course first!

2009-05-19T19:39:00.002+10:00

NEVER thought I'd hear myself say this but ..."Thank heaven for rain." Not so much for the environmental and ecological issues for the country ... but so I can get on with my ironing.

Yes, I do have all day to myself these days while the boys are at school and husband is at work but when it's so nice outside who wants to be attached to a hot steamy thing for hours on end??

So while the colourful expanse of fabrics on the living room floor outgrows its linen basket home and grows further, I continue to accept invitations from my newfound friends to frequent the local wineries to sample their cheese platters and Chardonnay. What's the point of being in the heart of wine country when you can't get around and sample their wares?

I keep explaining to disgruntled other half that it's all in the name of PR. When our flocks of visitors come over and ask us for somewhere to go, I need to be armed with the information they want to hear. And for that, homework and research needs to be done in copious amounts (do you think he'll fall for THAT???)

So while he continues to leave the house at 4.30am to earn a crust, I grab another three hours of beauty sleep and wake to thoughts of how to fill my day. I always imagined I'd get bored being a housewife but I'm absolutely loving it. Although I am due an interview with the jobseekers company we signed up with when we first arrived.

Having been registered with them for 10 weeks, they offer an appointment to help with job applications and interview techniques. I didn't have the heart to tell them that I've only been seeking work for the past week or two, with half opened eyes casting over intermittent sits-vac newspaper columns. I came out here with a view of trying something new, be it bar work or supermarket shelf stacking.

But as time goes on, I'm discovering that to work in a bar you need to pass a college course on serving alcohol and there's even a licence required for making public coffee. $100 for a couple of hours on a course learning how to make a cappucino? Sounds outrageous but if that's what the public wants, that's what the public gets.

Maybe there's a certain way on how to froth up the foam or even shake the chocolate powder onto the finished work of art?

Whatever happened to learning on the job?

Funny old world

2009-05-10T15:40:00.001+10:00

AUSTRALIA is such a laid back sort of place. It holds no reserve and if it's residents have something to say, they just spit it right out. The most used phrases are "naa waarrries" and "naa drama" and my youngest son is acquiring quite the Aussie accent.

He doesn't have 'lettuce' anymore - it's 'lerris' - and when he falls off his bike and cuts his knees, it's a Band Aid he asks for not a plaster. 'No' is now 'noy' and yes is 'yiii' .... takes some getting used to.

At the weekend, we met an English couple who moved out here seven years ago.
Although she has kept a tight grip on her UK accent, he on the other hand, sounds like he's a native through and through.

He was telling us he's from south of the Watford Gap and that explains how he's lost his reserved Britishness. Apparently, those from up north don't generally lose the tones of their mother tongue but after listening to number two son these days, I beg to differ.

The TV and radio stations here also just say it as it is. I sat in the car the other night in disbelief at what was emanating from its speakers. It was 6.10pm on a weekday night and the two show presenters had a live caller on the phone-in line.

I won't go into any great detail but let's just say that the conversation between the three over the subject of smoking got a little heated.
In the 10 minutes I was tuned in for, there were three quite strong references of one telling the other "where to go" if you catch my drift and although I pride myself on my broad-mindedness, I find this sort of dialect offensive if there are impressionable youngsters around.

Then I'd only just got the boys off to bed, so it wasn't all that late, when on the TV came an advert from the ... wait for it ... "Bedroom Police"!
In this little piece of tongue in cheek advertising, a team of uniformed officers storm into a bedroom and ask the guy ... "Do you know how fast you were going Sir?" and proceed to rectify his 'speeding problem' with the necessary product.

You just have to laugh...

Identity crisis

2009-05-02T20:49:00.003+10:00

TASKS are so much easier when you have the right equipment for the job.

For months, we've struggled "making do" until our possessions arrived on the container. Any jobs I needed seeing to by my more-than-handy-hubby had to go on the back burner while he eagerly awaited his Snap On toolboxes full of forty years' worth of tool collection.

A particular problem I, personally, have been encountering has been the payment of my UK mobile phone bill. I wanted to keep it for the initial few months after arrival in Australia as it was my way of keeping a familiar sort of contact. A comfort blanket so to speak. An electronic soother.

So when it came to paying the UK-sourced bill each month, I was in between the devil and the deep blue Pacific Ocean ... literally. The first month, I had to get my brother to get out his plastic and pay it on my behalf but there's only so many times you can ask that sort of favour. So we decided it was a priority to get a credit card.

But it's only after being in the country for so long that you can apply for such luxurious items as credit cards. And to apply for one, you have to provide more than one form of proof of identity. One we had in our passports. The other was, however, not forthcoming.

Our UK driving licences were obsolete as we needed the Australian photo ID ones that come printed with a current address. We had only just moved into the house we're renting and so had not even had a utility bill with our name and address printed on it and the bank staff here didn't know us from Adam. Not like our local branch that used to speak with us on first name terms.

So the chicken and the egg problem has been ongoing and we've begun to appreciate how difficult and mind-numbingly exhaustive putting the legwork into a new life has become.

But now we've had a few bills and have posed for driving licence mugshots, we've got some plastic!! I'm beside myself. Excited. And feel back in control of my finances.
Now we've been here a few months, the roots we're putting down, although there's still a lot of watering to do, are growing in steady measures.

Transatlantic transactions have never been easier. I just went online to view the bank balance, went to the phone and used the mobile phone company's automated service, tapped in a few numbers and hung up. I got back to the laptop and voila! The payment had gone through before I'd got back to my seat.

Technology is a wonderful thing that I never want to be without ever again.

Poms in Oz

2009-04-29T20:56:00.001+10:00

TODAY was a big day for me. I went on a blind date.

Having been married for an age and a day, it's been a long time since I went on one of these set ups, but this was a meeting with a difference. There was no Cilla Black and no copy of the Financial Times to grip and hide behind. Just a date, a time and a venue.

The invitation to hook up came over by email last week so off I went today, into town, outside the post office on Main Street ... to wait for my dark haired coffee date, who, I was informed, would be wearing jeans and a black jacket.
There was no need for a description of me I was told ... that had already been sorted after a viewing to the E-version of my column in the Evening Leader.

I was a little early so waited outside the meeting point and made eye contact with anyone who passed by who fitted the description I'd been given. And then she came. In the distance I spotted her with a grin from ear to ear, sunnies, jeans and a black jacket. Bingo!

A former Wrexham-ite, my 'date' took me for coffee alfresco and we chatted about life and kids and jobs and stuff. We also touched on the subject of how our international paths had crossed.
Her mum is one of my fans and a regular reader of the Leader who's been following my weekly pieces with interest. It's pretty much what her own daughter did some 27 years ago and for us to settle in pretty much the same place fascinates me. It also must fascinate mum as she's been emailing me to keep in touch.

This country is vast. The world even more so. And here we are. Sitting sipping Flat Whites and Lattes like there's no tomorrow and not much left of today. Before 11am today, we'd never clapped eyes on one another. After a couple of hours, we've bonded into buddies and have set a date to meet up in a few weeks. With husbands in tow this time, armed with diaries for plenty of newly arranged golf trips!

Getting by with a little help from some new friends...

2009-04-18T23:12:00.003+10:00

THREE months into life Down Under and we can now boast equally as many friends.

Since moving to the peninsula three weeks ago, we've put ourselves around and got stuck in to some serious social networking. I'll admit I thought it'd be a whole lot easier for me ... I've struggled to get some mates on my side even with my knack of striking up a conversation with a total stranger and have them eating out of the palm of my hand within nano-seconds.

When we arrived, we were lucky to befriend the children of a former Buckley-ite who moved out to Melbourne as a £10 Pom back in the sixties, fed up to the back teeth of negotiating their youngsters' pushchair through 6ft of the white wintry stuff ... the type of weather she and her husband wanted to see the back of.

So they packed up, paid their tenners and got on a boat for six weeks with two young children. Another two were born in Australia and made the family complete.

She, and her children, who are all our age, have been untold good to us. She has a son and three daughters - one of whom I have a particular affinity with. We laugh at the same stupid stuff, we enjoy a glass of white, we're equally as disorganised as one another and we even have a freckle on the same part of our face. Destiny!

Now we've moved into our gaff in sprawling suburbia, we are striking up friendships with our Aussie counterparts, Over the road, there's 'Stuart the Salesman' and 'Nicky the Naturopath', over in Mount Martha, we have 'Helen the Hairdresser' and right next door to us is 'Michael the Maths teacher'. Wife, Lisa, is a book-keeper by trade and is going hell for leather with her attempts to come up with plans to get me back into the work I love.

But last week I applied for a job as a cleaner. A high class cleaner. A cleaner that would put $40,000 (£20k) a year into the household coffers. Not to be scoffed at I thought so I went along for two interviews... but during the second one, I heard my imaginary Lisa in my head telling me it wasn't for me.
"You'll get bored", "You need to find something in which to showcase your talents", "You need to bide your time and wait for the right job to present itself to you"... I 'heard' her say.

So halfway through the interview, I fessed up and said I didn't want to waste their time further but if they ever had an opening for a secretary to give me a shout. There would be no need for further interviewing as that had already been done.

Now husband has started his full time work, I can concentrate on getting myself fixed up with something I like the look of. I'm quite enjoying being a stay-at-home mum but there's only so many times you can hoover up the floorboards and clean sand out of the bath without it starting to grate and if I get a job soon, it will be me employing one of those high class cleaners that I almost became myself...

An imminent arrival...

2009-04-05T22:39:00.000+10:00

THIS time next week I won't know myself. As we speak, the container of all our worldly goods is sitting docked at Melbourne port waiting for customs and quarantine officers to rifle through it.

We've moved into the new house that we've signed up to rent until the new year and all is good. Apart from the fact that I have just one saucepan, a grill tray and four tiny glasses to work with.
Even Nigella Lawson'd have trouble knocking out a wholesome family meal with that equipment.

The plate inside the microwave doubles up nicely as a serving dish for salad as long as the iceberg's not piled up too high and the fish slice, although a little difficult, is fully utilised as a potato masher when the opportunity presents itself. It's like camping but without the trailer tent.

At least when we were away in our trailer tent, the boys were elevated as they slept. All they have in their spacious new bedrooms is a linen basket for their persistently sand-filled socks and a single airbed that deflates during the small hours. They look like little boys lost when we tuck them in each night ... not that there's anything much to tuck in yet ... still waiting for their duvets to show up too.

This house is vast. It probably looks even more so due to the lack of stuff but we're getting there slowly.
Some new kids on the block moved in down the road yesterday and we watched them take charge of their UK stash from the back of an international removal company's truck. We sat there from our commanding position looking down all gog-eyed and needy like children in a candy shop with no money.

I can't wait for my belongings to get here. Having packed it all up in November, I can't for the life of me remember what's going to show up here. Most missed upto now are our lovely comfy settees that we haven't seen for the past four odd months. It will be a reunion made in squishy-soft-leathery heaven!

'Rough diamond' remembered

2009-03-24T19:10:00.002+11:00

EVEN over here, as a 10,000 mile away onlooker, I've been following the devastating and deteriorating condition of Big Brother star, Jade Goody.

At 27, she's been snatched from her two young boys, family and friends by the evil disease that is cancer. The girl who was never afraid to 'have a go' and was always first to put herself down has gone.

People have either loved or hated Jade ... personally, I loved her, but was frowned upon whenever this admission cropped up.
"She's a nothing. A nobody. Just someone who's as thick as two short planks who's been on a reality show ..." they would retort.

Yes... she may have been just a Cockney 'sparra' who was catapulted into the media spotlight by a reality show that highlighted her language gaffs and non-Mensa-like take on life but these are the reasons why viewers in their thousands tuned into the show week after week.

I met Jade this time last year at a pre-charity football match dinner in Wrexham. Listed among the other celebrities were X-Factor contestant Andy Abraham and Liberty X's Michelle Heaton was there with then but now estranged husband, Andy Scott-Lee.
Jade made her appearance, running late as always, with Jack Tweed following closely behind.

She liked to come over as one brimming with confidence with a boyish and cheeky attitude but really, I found her to be the shy sort of ladette type. She posed for a photograph with us and got up on the dancefloor to strutt away to the vives coming from the X-Factor crooner and was soon gone, back upto her hotel room, to get some shut-eye for the following day on the footy pitch.

Just a few months later, she was in the spotlight again in a racism row over treatment towards fellow Celeb Big Bro contestant, Shilpa Shetty. Personally, I think it was blown all out of proportion but as an olive branch, the shamed star agree to take part in India's version of BB. It was here where she was told of her illness in the diary room of the television set.

After her flight home there followed report after report on her condition and now, just months after receiving the shocking news, she's gone and I'm gutted.
Even on her deathbed, she remained firmly in the media focus and it is hoped that this TV coverage seeing her dwindle away before our eyes may raise enough awareness of the threat of cervical cancer.

I'm sure after this, doctor's surgeries near and far are being inundated with check up appointments. If Jade hadn't been the person she was and allowing us all to have a bird's eye view into her world, she would be just another silent statistic to the killer disease.

I can do that...

2009-03-24T19:05:00.002+11:00

I WAS brave today ... on two counts.

Husband was invited to a round of golf by a neighbour so off he trot. Taking the only set of wheels we have with him.
This left me to fend for myself and looking at ways I could while away the hours that the children were sat at their desks. So I strolled around the estate in the direction of a main road and jumped onto a bus into town. It's a five minute journey under your own 4-litre steam and the speed I drive at (!) but under the steam of the Peninsula Bus Line, I was in Mornington 25 minutes later.

By the time I'd spent a bit of money and had a bite for lunch, it was pretty much time to start getting back if I wanted to get to the school on time. But, before leaving, I had a job to do. To ask in the bistro where I was sitting about the job they had advertised in the window.

In an attempt to get myself into Mornington to earn money each day and not spend it, I enquired what exactly was entailed in the role of "kitchenhand".
Sounds pretty obvious to me but I just wanted to leave the charismatic confines of my comfy couch to stickybeak around the kitchen itself. The waitress suggested I speak with the head chef before I left, so I did.

It looked ok to me and by all accounts, if experience is what they're after, they've found it with me. May as well be paid for washing up dishes because I do it for nowt at home.
But then, head chef Nick tells me the haunt is "currently trialling for the position..."

Trialling??? Gee whizz. I really am going to have a shock when it comes to finding office employment that I'm used to if a job washing pots needs to be trialled.

Think I might sit this one out!

Jobhunters

2009-03-22T21:40:00.002+11:00

TWO months in and we both remain unemployed. Husband is off for intervew number three at the same firm for more interrogation in the morning while I stroll to school with the children in the autumn sunshine.

I say 'stroll to school' in the broadest sense - the school is within spitting distance of the house - if you're a good spitter that is - and the boys now like to walk in by themselves. Getting into true Aussie lingo, they say they look like 'dorks' when either one of us parents escorts them into their classrooms!

So, by the end of this week, we'll know whether the tradesman of the household has been successful in any one of the countless jobs he's applied for.
If I wore a hat, I'd take it off to him. While I peruse the 'sits vac' columns of the local newspaper with half interested eyes, he's down at the job centre applying for litter picking jobs and even jobs down the copper mines.

The job I thought was coming up at the local cop shop was, after closer inspection, non-existent and the bobby who told me of it was obviously talking through his truncheon. I've spoken to two senior sergeants about the possibility of employment in their offices but there's nothing going ... allegedly.

So woe is me. I need some sort of normality and routine in my life and by being in work again will cut the mustard. It's here where I'll get myself some chums to bounce off and work up some sort of social circle again.

If anybody in the south-western suburbs of Melbourne wants to take on a naughty-forty-office-tea-girl, just shout yeah...?

Running out of ink... and patience

2009-03-22T21:36:00.002+11:00

TOMORROW will bring yet another day of form filling.

Over the past few weeks, we've gone through biros like a dose of salts and the times I've scribed our new address and telephone number is beyond belief.
We have a new identity now and have had to start again from scratch ... from finding a dentist I trust enough to fill a gap in my front left incisor right through to locating a letterbox large enough for all my postcards, the learning curve is immense.

Anything tax related (thankfully) is handled by husband. He knows all about the dull stuff that - granted - needs to be known, but it's not something I want taking up my spare head space. I leave that for planning ahead enough to get birthday gifts organised and sent off to the UK in plenty of time for the big days.

This time six months ago, I'd simply hoof out to the local shopping park and pick up a bespoke gift for whoever it was but now, I don't have a clue where to get things from and more importantly, what I'm allowed to send and what I'm not.

So back to the form filling ... I need a credit card. It's imperitive. A necessity. An urgent item. Not that I need the credit... moreover I need to pay a bill that's still sourced in the UK.

I have a mobile telephone bill the size of Gibraltar and with just days to go before its due date, I have no way of paying it. The account strategy we've kept there purely for this scenario has gone belly-up in the fact that our bank friends have decided to cut us off from our own cash because we gave a password that they didn't recognise for telephone banking.

Forgive us for being forgetful. It's the lack of sleep you see. While we sit here waiting for your staff to open up and get the kettle on, it's way passed our bedtime and by the time we wake up in the morning, your office is in darkness with just its video surveillance for company.

Maybe I could persuade the bank in question to pay my mobile bill for me ... for it's their number that features most on my itemised call sheet...

A little Xtra help? Not this time.

Big move lies ahead

2009-03-18T20:31:00.003+11:00

UK readers of this newspaper will be delighted to hear that I'm absolutely freezing!

The Mornington Peninsula weather here just now is messing around with both my head and my wardrobe and the boys are beside themselves at having to apply pre-school sunscreen while the living room gas fire's on at full pelt.
The mornings are cold but come lunchtime, temperatures usually soar and then drop right back down to where they started 9 hours previous ... but we are heading into Melbourne's autumn.

Yesterday, we watched the rain lash down on the balcony, only to clear up within the hour leaving the garden looking refreshed and thankful. It may just be my imagination but at one point, I was sure I heared the plants in their borders slurping away at the rainfall, not knowing when the next lot was going to drop.

One day I'm in two piece swimwear, the next I'm togged upto the neck in a woolly jumper and boots but at least it seems the more I don, the less chance the mozzies have of replenishing their dwindling stocks on me. I have bites the size of golf balls and am sometimes glad of the cooler days that seem to stop them in their greedy tracks.

But we'll be moving away from the trees and semi-ruralness of our Peninsula beach house in McCrae next week, swapping it for a two-living-four-bedded-two-bathed-gaff in the sprawling metropolis that is Mornington.

It's here where we think we'll be laying our hats in the months that follow so renting here for the best part of a year will give us the opportunity to find our feet and put down some roots.

Meeting new people is a slow process and I'm hoping our move will lead me in the direction of human traffic. The boys will be signed up for everything I can get a leaflet on whether they like it or not and I may even join a fitness class myself.

I can hear the sniggers from HERE...!

Pedal to the metal

2009-03-11T22:40:00.001+11:00

IT'S not something I'm proud of ... but I've just had my first brush with the Aussie law.

Well... it WAS teatime. And we WERE hungry. And it WAS getting late down at the beach. The sound of bellies rumbling over-shadowed anything the waves crashing to shore could muster up with so I went out. Alone. Looking for food. In the car.
The car with a 4-litre engine. The car I've driven just a handful of times and the car in which I'm still learning how to master the cruise control and automatic transmission.

And the rest is history. I'd merely pulled out of the car park and onto the West Nepean Highway, just a stone's throw from our beach spot when ... ZAP. He got me. On his radar. Clocking in at 73km, when I should have been doing 50, in the car. The car with the 4-litre engine. The car that I've driven a handful of times. And the car in which I'm still learning how to master the cruise control and automatic transmission.

So, just over a month into my new life and I have become a statistic. I have to cough up $142 within six weeks and have just one single point put on my still-UK driving licence. Not sure how exactly that will be applied but for now, I'm not worried.

Playing on my last ounce of charm, I pointed out to the officer that I would need a job before I could pay off any such fine and he went on to tell me about the vacancies that were coming up in the local police department. So now, I'm busy getting my CV ... er .... sorry .... resume .... in order before pushing it through the letterboxes of every cop shop in Victoria.

Here's hoping my very black cloud has an extremely silver lining...

2009-03-03T14:10:00.001+11:00

IN a matter of hours, my life has been transformed. Again.

Today, the children started at their new school. We secured a house to rent last week and the next job to tackle was to find a school for the boys. Just a stone's throw from our new abode is a relatively new school, full of vibrancy and, well, newness.

We put in a phone call at 2.15pm on Friday expressing an interest in signing up the boys as new starters and by 3.40pm we were in Frankston kitting them both out in the school's colours. The uniform came as a bit of a shock to me. Always one to choose muted shades over any other, I was both shocked and stunned to see them come out the fitting room in cobalt blue and tangerine.

And this isn't any old tangerine. It's full blown tangerine. In fact, more tangerine than any tangerine I've ever seen in the fruit aisles of Somerfield.

$300 lighter, we left the store with two bags and headed off to hunt for shoes. Then stationery. Then lunchboxes. Then cash for next week's two school trips - the first to learn about the Aboriginees followed by a two day course on beach studies.

The house is a different place altogether now. It's tidy. Organised. And even better ... quiet. Sitting on the balcony, sipping away at a Flat White and looking out to the sea, I'm seeing all sorts of things I've never taken in before and we've been here THREE weeks.

The birds are no longer afraid to perch in the trees in the garden and I just caught a glimpse of a possum on the roof. With the noise of two pesky boys around the place usually, these creatures have kept themselves well hidden.

Understandably so!

Just helping out as and when...

2009-03-03T13:50:00.001+11:00

IT wasn't Wimbledom Common but today, as a family, we played at being Wombles and volunteered to take part in National Clean-Up Australia Day.

We were a little late due to UK Skype commitments but turned up all eager and keen to collect any litter from around our local area.

If I say it was hard going, you'd think the work we were undertaking was difficult. Yes, it was difficult. To find litter round here you really have to look for it. All I could manage to find for my oversized hessian sack was about 150 cigarette ends, 47 bottle tops, a couple of crisp bags and the odd used teabag.

The children got stuck in and treated is a treasure hunt. Husband on the other hand was more concerned about whether passers-by thought we'd been put on a programme of community service.

After telling one UK friend what our plans for the day entailed he scoffed, saying "You never did that here...!"

Tis true. But if I'm encouraged to do something good I'll get right on in there and do it. Maybe this is something councils over there could take on board.
By putting out a little advance publicity and sticking a "volunteers needed" sandwich board out on the side of a road, anyone with any spare time and spare inclination will muster up the enthusiasm to get involved.

In my experience, if you're not asked to do something, most times it doesn't get done...

Same difference

2009-03-01T14:31:00.002+11:00

I HAD a text from one of my close friends in the UK this week. He asked me what I thought the main differences were between my new Aussie life and the UK one I've left behind...

My reply was one that focussed on the basic stuff - like weather and lifestyle and exchange rates.... but really, when you look at the facts all up close, there isn't THAT much to compare.
The price of spaghetti hoops and Old El Paso taco dinner kits are the same, as are loose onions, peppers and tomatoes.

I confessed that I'd slipped into life Down Under with relative ease - same language, same monarchy, same side of the road to drive on - but I have a bit of a problem in the property department.

We've just had approval to rent ... YIPPEE! So my newfound friend and her reference worked absolute wonders and we're now on the ladder. We've viewed a handful of properties to rent but they've been ... how can I say ... "different".

Yes. Different. That's just it. I can't adjust to the fact that there can be a fantastic home on offer for an equally fantastic price. But its neighbours' "estate" replicates something from Onslow's front yard in Keeping Up Appearances. Do you know where I'm coming from?

So, come mid-March, we'll be moving out of our beautiful beach house and into a four-bedroomed, two reception and bathroomed gaff in Mornington, just around the corner from a primary school.

From hereon in, I'll be able to put down some roots and get a real feel for the area we've chosen from a great many on offer.

Let's hope we've put our map pin in the right place...

Getting somewhere now

2009-03-01T14:29:00.001+11:00

JUST over three weeks into our new life, we're on a roll.

Husband has a few interviews lined up - which has made him a little happier - and we're a step closer to being agreed to rent a house.
The paperwork involved in such a task in a different country is incomprehendible. "Please attach copies of utility bills with your current address... "Please supply references of good character from three Australian citizens ..."Please tell us how much cash you have in the bank and how much you spend on broccoli a week blah blah blah....

We don't HAVE any utility bills yet ..... we don't KNOW anybody yet and ........... we don't particularly go all out to fill ourselves up with the green wintery vegetable stuff - yet.

So. We continue to wait around for a decision on our future and idle our time away at the beach playing swingball and diving under the sun parasol for relief from the sun.
We're still in something of a holiday mode, what with going out for meals and drinking beer when we get home.

But this really feels like home. I feel at home. Thanks to mobile phones and Skype video calling, I've never been cut off from my home town. Although I'm actually dreading my next mobile phone bill, I don't really care what it amounts to.

You can't put a price on "home".

We're the lucky ones

2009-02-26T11:36:00.002+11:00

THE initial horror of the havoc wreaked by the Victorian bushfires was starting to subside a little ... but not for long.

Weather forecasters warned of high winds last night and fire rescue teams were bracing themselves for a night of battle with the fires that continue to rage throughout the state.

A few days ago, temperatures in the late-20s coupled with strong winds were not something the rescue services round here really wanted to expect. New fires are still breaking out all over Victoria but fortunately, we've seen the grand total of ... none.

We've woken up this morning to not our usual view. We can't see the sea for smoke haze and the stench is choking. I dread to think how the crews were getting on with their containment lines while we all lay asleep in bed last night.

Not one to rest on my laurels, I'm keeping "bushfire alert" planted firmly in my mind. For the sake of the children, it will be kept in the darkest and deepest region but it's there all the same.

Today, temperatures are expected to hit 38 and then later tonight, we're looking at getting more high winds. The combination of the two is shocking. Any other natural disaster I've ever known are over within days, sometimes hours. The devastation caused by them is mindblowing and imcomprehendable but this disaster is going on and on an on.

In local towns and villages, we've come across wheelie bins outside shops that request donations to help bushfire victims get back on their feet. I was surprised to see these cash-filled collection points still in situ at the end of the day. Not one piece of chain or lock or security device had been put in place for its protection. Just the goodwill and kind spirits of those around is enough to deter any would-be thieves of any wrong doing.

The whole state and even country has united in this national and international ongoing trauma and it's one I, and fellow Australians, will remember for a long, long time.

Learning curve

2009-02-18T21:40:00.003+11:00

TODAY, my thongs are killing me.

No, I haven't overdone it on a hot wash and am suffering from a case of severe undie shrinkage. It's my ... as you call them back there ... flip flops.

For two weeks, I've flippety flopped my way through airports, shopping centres, chemists, used car forecourts, beaches and even places of interest. The thing that's getting to me most just now is where to get something a little more substantial for my ageing trotters.

"Back home" I knew exactly where to pick up any provisions, whether it be a loaf of bread or a new purse, a postage stamp or the latest CD.
Here, I don't know my Target from my Coles and every store is a new one.

I plucked up the courage last week to take off with the car keys and head down the road to the supermarket for some shopping. An hour later, I was back. With ice cream melted and tinnies all warm, I had to confess to the family that I'd spent just five minutes in the store. The rest of the time was spent trying to negotiate my way along highways and freeways in a vain attempt to get back to base.

My map reading skills are pretty basic and my built-in sat nav system is a non-starter so the sooner I'm left behind my own wheels to get on with it, the better.
All the roads look the same and I'm having huge problems finding my way around. I sit there like the Queen being chauffered from pillar to post and it often comes to blows when the map on my knee is looked at with blank eyes. I'm proud of the fact that I DO know my right from my left but when it comes to cartography, I aint the best.

One thing HAS been proved to me in the last week though ... that men CAN multi-task like their female counterparts. Although it's not exactly washing up while making lunch while taking a phone call and checking on the children, my husband can drive and map read simultaneously while I just look up at him from the passenger seat, all doe-eyed and helpless.
He's the best!

Aussie-fied

2009-02-18T21:35:00.003+11:00

I AM now a fully fledged Australian citizen. And for three reasons ... I've "grabbed pizza for tea" on the beach, am the daily wearer of flip flops and I've taken the plunge and had the plug changed on my hair straighteners. Now, that latter point alone shows REAL committment to my new country.

No more hunting round the suitcases for one of the travel adapters. I can now plug in and go like the rest of my Antipodean counterparts.
Although the hairstyle I'm currently sporting maybe a little shortlived. The combining results of a sea breeze and the bright sunshine are wreaking havoc on my once sleek locks. No longer does my barnet lie all tamed and straight. These days it's stuffed under a baseball cap and only gets attended to every two days.

I'm adapting well to my new surroundings. We've been in the country just two weeks and are making steady progress. It's a long process putting down roots but we're getting ours slowly.
What is unsettling still are the state's bushfires.
A smoke haze surrounds Victoria's suburbs, blown over from the countryside breakouts. I've had countless texts from the UK mocking me of my time of arrival in the country and our Aussie friends tell us we couldn't have arrived at a worse time. But I don't think we could have timed it better.

The states' coming together has opened my eyes as to how giving these people are. In the face of adversity, they extend the hand of friendship to those who need it most - those whose houses have burnt to the ground before their very eyes and only by the grace of God are alive to tell the international tale.

A whole heap of cash has been raised already to help these families get back on their feet. All the big companies are playing their part by donating a share of their profits and even community groups are pulling together with their "Sausage Sizzlers" to bring in the coinage.

It's going to be a lengthy task but these people will pull through this terrible time. That's what they do best... look after eachother with a "naaa worries" attitude and a continuous smile on their face. Love it.

A whiter shade of pale

2009-02-12T11:35:00.000+11:00

I'M trying so hard to fit into my new surroundings. Although something is holding me back.

I'm desperate to transform my whiter than white limbs into those that resemble something a little more Aussie-like.
Although I think a decade at the gym and daily classes of Slimming World may help me achieve my goal more than a little sunshine.

That said, most of the natives are as pale skinned as I so I don't feel totally out of it but it's true that we feel better with a bit of colour. I'm waiting patiently to move out of Blotchville at Pink City and am enjoying my times sitting in the shade without any need to follow my usual British form and head straight for the rays. I have all the time in the world to colour up like the rest of them.

As with everything, my tan will progress as equally as our life re-building programme. We were invited to our first authentic Aussie barby last night and I feel as if I've been here all my life. In fact, I feel a little guilty that I'm out here rolling out the good times while my kith and kin 'back home' are in constant touch saying how much I'm missed.

We have just moved from our bush fire 'high alert' cabin site at Warrandyte and are at a beach house overlooking the sea at Dromana on the Mornington Peninsula. The boys have gone out shopping for provisions and buckets and spades while I concentrate on getting some sort of routine in order ... and that starts with the laundry.

9am on a February morning and I'm hanging out the washing to dry in the shade of a lemon tree. The grass underfoot is crisp. But not with the white stuff that usually crunches under my size 7s on a February morning ... more the parched outside floor covering they call 'grass' out here.

I haven't seen a lush bit of greenery for ages, apart from the fake stuff that adorns the frontage of the showhomes we've been visiting ... and yes, it does feature on my 'Miss List.'
Never thought I'd see the day I'd be admitting to missing anything horticultural. The nearest thing I ever came to anything under this domain was when I was at my Evening Leader workstation subbing the press releases from Northop's college.

So, a week in and things are good. Still featuring prominently on my shopping list is a job, new driver's licence and stamps for postcards, not necessarily in order of importance, but it's a list all the same.
I'm still on my honeymoon period and waiting for any grief and sadness to set in. Without doubt it will, and hopefully, when it comes I'll be mentally prepared.

If my anticipated mobile phone bill is anything to go by though, it's that that will make me cry more than anything else!

Getting out and about

2009-02-08T11:41:00.000+11:00

I'VE never spent $8,000 so quick in all my life.

High on today's agenda was buying a car. Without wheels, we've been restricted on where we can go, when we can go there and even what we can go for. Now, all our transport problems have been solved after spending an afternoon in the heat that beat down on us and our pocketful of cash.

At a used car saleroom similar to that of Lou Grant's in Neighbours with it's tacky bunting and comedian salesmen, we found our motor. An impulse buy maybe but it was indeed a case of scouring the oversized yard and getting our priorities right.
Husband wanted all the boring things like low mileage and cruise control. Being the lady of the house, I was more interested in the colour and its air con capabilities.

This heat though is shortlived. Tomorrow, it's going to rocket from today's meagre 32 degrees to a whopping 46.
Victoria has been put on bushfire alert after the devastation caused by last week's Gippsland fires. Water bombing sky cranes and firefighting aircraft from New South Wales have been drafted in to assist and an evacuation standby has been issued. Fire resources will be stretched to the limit and there has even been additional recruitment from overseas.

Melbournians have been asked to consider their energy usage, looking at reducing electricity and air conditioning. As new residents to this amazing country, we will be taking on board the advice given to us by the authorities.

I'm just glad we can put on the air con in the car .... see, who needs low mileage and cruise control??

G'day mates!

2009-02-08T11:36:00.000+11:00

OUR departure date came and went without incident. Apart from sub-zero temperatures and a few millimetres of snow threatening airport closure, we boarded our flight to Singapore, on time and in - surprisingly - good spirits.

The week leading upto our leaving day was ... how can I say ... interesting. It was like attending my own wake with visitors calling, all sombre and solemn-faced, hardly managing to make any eye contact or hug resistance.

They brought cards, gifts and well wishes, interspersed with choked words convincing us we WERE doing the right thing and that all would be well. The final weekend in Wales was, however, more like Chinese torture with our nearest and dearest.
My heart strings have never been pulled in so many directions and my ribs ached from sessions of sobs, tears and palpitations. Drama Queen maybe but true nonetheless.

The flight was a blaaarrrrdy long one. But in all fairness, there's plenty of entertainment. Whether it's the inflight movies, the battle with the geriatric in front who insists on reclining into your personal airspace or just the people watching that comes with air travel, there really is something for everyone long haul.

I spent most of the last five or six hours of the flight observing my fellow travellers. In the distance, I clocked a middle aged guy, all tracksuited up and ready to rock 'n' roll. He spent most of the flight in the aisle limbering up with his absurd routine of healthy air travelling. After countless squats, and thrusts, and stretches, and neck cracks, he would settle down for yet another meal and glass of Chardonnay.

After travelling for 24 hours, we touched down, all green faced and stomach churned. I suppose this had something to do with the sleep deprivation and time travel.
We left Manchester at 9.15am and after a few hours, lunch was served. After the last doll's-house-type food package had been tackled and the empties had been cleared, a gaze out the window shocked me.... Straight after lunch and it was dark.

Another dollop of flying was taken on and after a three hour stop at Singapore Airport, we got back on the winged beast for the final leg of the journey. Flying over Perth, I was jealous of those migrating to this part of Australia. For them, their feat of endurance would be over. For us heading to Melbourne, it was a further four hours in the clouds. If the ground hadn't been so hot when we landed, I would've kissed it.

After just a few days, the temperature has been fantastic - averaging daily at around 30. Tomorrow, however, offers a different story. Temperatures are forecast to soar to a whopping 43 then dropping to something like 24 the day after. Residents have been put on high alert for potential bush fires and fire rescue teams are pensive over the imminent 24-hr heatwave.

So after a few days in the land Down Under, I have had a little time to reflect on my situation. I have left behind a great many friends and a close knit family that I know were sad to see the back of me. The thought of re-building such a strong social network now fills me with dread as I enter this country as Melbourne's new girl ... craving to fit in and integrate with the locals.

Social adjustment is of paramount importance to me now and as I sit on the verandah of my Warrandyte Road holiday home with a glass of Australian white, I take stock of the things that matter.
I will contact "home" regularly and will never forget those who mean the most to me. The relationships I have forged over the years mean more to me than anything else and they are too strong to diminish.

But life IS too short for regrets and this is something we have always had to do...

Too late to make up for lost time...

2009-01-20T22:30:00.000+11:00

TODAY, my eyes are sore.

I'd like to think it was down to an allergic reaction to the new super defining lash extending false effect waterproof mascara I've just invested in, but it's not.

Over the past week, I've had more than my fair share of tears. With less than two weeks to our departure date, the emotional pressure is overwhelming. We're having a fantastic time just now, spending endless hours with our nearest and dearest but I'm finding myself getting more and more attached to what and who I'll soon be leaving behind.

I can barely speak to them on the other end of the phone without blubbing and I've had to visit the chemist for some remedial tongue spray that 'provides comfort in times of anxiety or stress...'

I keep it close to hand in my purse and reach for it every time I feel myself well up. Can't say it's been successful in stopping the sqwarkage yet but even if it's a placebo and helps me keep it together for the next week or so, it'll be money well spent.

Our blue recycling box is a shadow of its former self as invitations to eat out with friends and family continue to flood in and lately, I've had a strange desire to go to all the places I've never visited and all the places I don't get to visit as often as I'd like.

The things right on your very doorstep are usually the ones overlooked the most but with the clock of change tickety-ticking away, I really can't see myself getting around to doing all the things I want to.

I'm not talking about taking on the Three Peaks Challenge, white water rafting in the Scottish Highlands or anything like that ... I'm just thinking of the simple things like visiting my pensioner neighbours for a Saturday afternoon rum and black or going to all the places we often just drive past, be it a pub, park or place of historic importance ...

I've never been to Ireland, spent minimal time in Scotland and the places I've visited as a tourist in my homeland Wales can be counted on one hand.

But now I find myself all out of both time and fine English pounds in order to make up for it...

Never say never...

2009-01-20T22:26:00.000+11:00

AS much as I'm absolutely LOVING being a stay-at-home mum right now, the novelty is slightly - just slightly - starting to wear off.

When I'm not filling in forms or closing down bank and store card accounts, my newfound but shortlived role of daytime couch potato is plagued by those really annoying TV ads for "no win no fee" personal injury claims, cough syrups and celebrity fitness DVDs.

I'm brainwashed by them - I know off by heart the numbers of every finance and self-proclaimed debt-busting company on the planet and I have mentally taken on board the fact that as soon as I get out to Melbourne, the first class I join will be an aerobic one (I can hear the sniggers from former Leader colleagues right now!)

Eastender Letitia Dean, ice champion Jane Torvill and even Claire from Steps are hammering our screens with details of their fitness regimes that put them firmly back on the road to tip top perfection.
Even Mr Motivator is back in the limelight attempting to kick our butts to take a more healthy lifestyle on his comeback trail.

My TV ad annoyance was kept at bay yesterday though, as I'd been asked by my sons' school to help out on a coach trip to see a local panto. I pencilled the date in my fit-to-busting diary and turned up at the school to take charge of my group.

Looking after someone else's children is a huge responsibility but one I enjoyed no end. Having two boys myself, I melted when the four girls I had to keep a watchful eye over competed for my attention.
"Mrs Pugh, Mrs Pugh .... Do you know my name?" .... "Mrs Pugh, Mrs Pugh .... Are we ready to go yet?" .... "Mrs Pugh, Mrs Pugh .... Can you touch the ceiling in this classroom?"
Being a cat's whisker over 6ft, the answer to this latter request was a yes and they stood there, all open-mouthed and in awe.

They were so well-behaved and I enjoyed myself that much, I'm now considering a change in career. I'm tempted to swap my keyboard for a classroom, taking a back seat to the teachers and helping out Australia's little cherubs with their cutting, sticking and reading.

They say never work with animals or children. I really can't see where that came from because from where I was standing yesterday, working with children could be the most rewarding job I've ever done.

Never say never...

I could get used to this ....

2009-01-12T23:22:00.000+11:00

IT was just a matter of time but it's happened. Inevitably. I have become idle.

We chose to quit our jobs just before Christmas and take January off. So having worked full time for the majority of our 40 years, we have just two deadlines a day that revolve around school collection and drop offs.

This morning, with a husband on the golf course, I had two boys - old enough now to get themselves ready in the mornings - to get to school before the bell sounded. From the comfort of my king size, I supervised teeth cleaning and uniform donning until they were ready to go.
My youngest was horrified as he climbed into the back of the car to see I was still in my PJs. Well, it wasn't worth getting dressed if my intention to get back into bed after the school visit was fulfilled.

And fulfilled it was. On went BBC1 and all tuned in for another sobbing session watching Wanted: Down Under.
When I worked Monday to Friday, 9 to 5, I was constantly asked if I'd been watching the series that takes families on a weeklong trip to Australia or New Zealand to give them a taste of what a new life would be like.
This was never possible for me pre-Christmas as I was sitting at a desk compiling another set of Evening Leader pages when the show was being aired. But I would be filled in by many a colleague or friend on how Annabelle and Mark from Northamptonshire or Leah and Raymond from Shropshire were taken on a whistlestop tour of the Antipodes to see if it was their cup of fine English tea.

Personally, I had no inclination to watch the programmes. It was exactly what we, as a family, were going through ourselves. I had it first hand anyway. But now, at home with no deadlines to meet, I am drawn daily to the programme that never fails to make me weep.
I cry at lots of things - watching my youngest play fooball, watching my eldest sing in his school's harvest festival, watching X Factor, Extreme Makeover and even Noel's House Party - but coming face to face with fellow families putting them in this familiar situation that we find ourselves in simply sets me off.

I'm dreading the day we leave and have visions to try and mentally prepare myself on how things will pan out. The social calendar for the next three weeks is manic, then, after that, well ... that's it. We'll be all alone with just eachother for company.

City shoppers

2009-01-05T01:51:00.000+11:00

TWO friends and I went on an impromptu shopping trip yesterday for a bit of pre-migration female bonding. After a couple of texts confirming details, we hoofed it up the high street to catch the bus to the big city.

We started off with good intentions but after lunch in a swish bar, it was corks out and glasses filled.
My store gift vouchers remained nestled at the bottom of my handbag for the duration of the trip as they simply couldn't compete with the call of the Cava.

We giggled at the bar while we waited for our cab home - our trip just summed up what we were all currently about.
One chum bought a woolly winter coat and roll neck jumper, the other leather boots and matching gloves ... while I simply perused the bikini sale racks, familiarised myself with the world's lightest luggage range and invested in a new address book to fill up before we leave for Melbourne.

Oi Nigella ... move over

2009-01-05T01:48:00.000+11:00

NEW Year's Eve, New Year's Day, New Life and even a New Me.

Today, with a whole brand spanking new year ahead of us, I have inadvertently transformed myself into, as my husband has now dubbed me, a domestic goddess. I've been called all sorts of things over the years no doubt and he likened me to a cat, going from a stray to a domestic in a bat of the eyelids.

You see, today I made a pie. I didn't sport an apron for the feat or end up with flour all over my nose but simply rolled up my sleeves, stumbled across a rolling pin at the back of one of the kitchen drawers and went on to impress my family.

My times in the kitchen are not generally adventurous ones - I have my mum's genes in that department! But today, things changed. There was a straggler of a can of Guinness left over from our festive binge drinking sessions and a good dollop of beef chunks in the fridge ... and the rest is history.

Trouble is, I think I've blown my cover and my days in the kitchen have been re-numbered. I've played oven-shy for too long but now I guess the culinary dumbness game's up!

New Year ... New Life ...

2009-01-05T01:30:00.000+11:00

NEW Year's Eve 2008 finds us homeless, jobless and, in a matter of weeks, friendless. Not to mention carless, cashless and clueless.

I'm hoping all these minor stumbling blocks are shortlived but it's a transition that's virtually inevitable when it comes to packing up your life and trying to cram it into a piece of luggage each, weighing no more than 20kg.

We're now getting incredibly closer to our departure date in early February. We've both jacked in our jobs and have the whole of January to soak up and sponge off family, friends and former colleagues in the hope it will see us through our hours of darkness after the sun's long gone down in the Melbourne suburb where we lay our baseball caps and factor 50.

I'm starting to get a little twitchy over what I'm to choose as my flight outfit. It needs to be comfortable enoughto withstand 21 hours in the air but also stylish and cosmopolitan enough to be paired with my skin tone coloured DVT-prevention flight socks and black leather boots.
I really don't want to but I can see no other option than to travelin my winter knee length footwear. There'll be no room for them in my suitcase and they probably count towards the lion's share of my baggage allowance, so it leaves me with no option other than to climb into them and introduce them to the clouds.
Can't see I'll have much use for them Down Under so I'm wearing the living daylights out of them while the UK cold snap takes its hold. That said, I hope it's dark when we land in the southern hemisphere otherwise I'm going to look more ridiculous in the 38 degree heat than Harry Hill's more than over-sized collars.

So, Christmas came and went without incident and although it's been a poignant one, it's been enjoyed all round. The word 'last' was banned and even Santa knew where we were temporarily hanging out to bring my globetrotting husband and I a gift that's yet to prove itself.
Designed by an airline pilot, these blow up seat cushions pledge to transform our cheap seats into first class with just 10 anxiety filled human puffs of air. Ingenious. A makeshift bed in the clouds for £30.

It'll be money well spent if it sees me arrive at Singapore Airport 12 odd hours after take off looking as good as the picture on the box!

On our way ....

2008-12-10T23:17:00.000+11:00

GLAD to say it, but I've just survived the worst week ever.

This time last week, I was up to my ears in bubblewrap and boxes trying with all my might to safeguard my precious belongings as they prepared to set sail on their 10,000 mile journey south.

Over the course of the week, I had developed two heaps of possessions - the one in the former games room was to go with us to Australia, the second, under the stairs and encroaching into the hallway, was there for the taking. Any callers went home with a trinket or two of the tat we've accumulated over the past 20-odd years - whether they wanted them or not.

So, last week, I had the mammoth task of keeping life in general ticking over, working full time with some extra curricular projects thrown in for the festive season and sorting out which parts of my life were to go down under and which I could palm off on friends and family.

Mum went home with a couple of car loads - from lamps and lilos to plants and pictures - she's keeping hold of them for me until I return from my adventure, then I can have it all back. And I thought I'd seen the back of it! The thought of being reunited with all my junk is enough to make me want to stay in Melbourne for good but I have to stick with the thoughts that jumble around in my brain that my international jet-setting move is not going to be forever.

Yes, we are looking at flights that come heavily labelled as "SINGLE" and the one-way flight thought has come as a bit of shocker but, at the end of the day, there's nothing stopping me buying another one-way ticket at the other end in order to get my butt back over here.
I wish I had an Aussie dollar or even a fine English pound for each time someone has consoled my pre-departure tears with "You can always come back if it doesn't work out ....."

That way, I could feel rest assured in the fact that I've jacked in my job that I've had for the past 16-odd years and feel comfortable with the fact that I will have no money to splurge on the things I want to come the bleak, cold and dank days of January.

I will have no house, no car, no job and no bank account ... but on the upside, I WILL have great family, great friends and an even greater drive and determination to get out there and see a bit of what the big, wide world has to offer me.

Pass me that box of Kleenex won't you ...?

All that glitters ... is not gold

2008-12-10T23:16:00.000+11:00

I CAN'T make my mind up about something I saw on TV at the weekend.

It wasn't anything to do with the Brand-Ross-Sachs-Baillie fiasco that interests me not a jot ... it was Saturday night's X-Factor and its judges.

Not one to be overly-opinionated, I couldn't decide whether the two female judges were being disrespectful to our fallen war heroes or not. Granted, all four judges wore the timely poppies but Cheryl Cole and Dannii Minogue wore them as blatant fashion accessories - Cheryl had turned hers into an overstated hair bobble while Dannii sported hers on her right wrist.

After having a mini discussion about this with colleagues in the office, I was told that the presenters on Strictly Come Dancing - It Takes Two had their bright red poignant emblems made into glitzy pieces of jewellery.

But that said, at least they were worn where they were always intended to be worn .... close to the heart.

Everybody needs a deadline

2008-12-10T23:15:00.002+11:00

TODAY, I'd like to share my thoughts on deadlines. Ah, deadlines. I love them. I can't work without them. In fact, they're probably the reason I've worked for a newspaper for the past 16 years.

Each weekday is a fast-paced-here-there-and-everywhere sort of time, virtually living by the seat of our pants, as any full-time working family does. Come the weekend, my steam has long evaporated and the adrenaline that keeps me going throughout the week virtually disappears by the time I wake up on Saturday morning.I have been known to not even get dressed from my jim-jams before noon and those who know me well will not dare call before 11am, either in person or by phone, for fear of what they may find ... usually, the boys and I having lunch in our PJ's with not a pair of bright eyes or a bushy tail in sight.

If I don't have to be somewhere or do something by deadline-o'clock, I just moapse around the place picking up toys, crumbs and sweet wrappers that weadle their way into my life to annoy the living daylight out of me.

My weekend motivation levels are currently clocking in at minus zero but I really do need to get myself sorted as our move to far off waters is becoming increasingly closer.
We have a speculative date of mid-January in our minds before we fly off to catch the Melbourne summer and end of the school's six week summer holidays. Although this is still unconfirmed due to outstanding dotting of I's and crossing of T's, it becomes more real with each week that passes.

There have been tears from me this week and I'm sure more will flow, even more so when we're out there with husband in work and children at school and I'm left alone in contemplation..... Maybe I should consider rounding up all the Ex-Pats from the area in which we settle and replace the 'coffee morning' with a 'sobbing session'.

The thought of all those tears that could be used effectively towards easing Australia's water shortage makes me happy and reinstates my British Stiff Upper Lip ... what what.

It's good to talk

2008-12-10T23:15:00.001+11:00

MY WORKSTATION has been moved countless times over the past 16 years, with office re-organisation and the like, but wherever I end up in our open plan goldfish bowl of publishing, it seems to morph into the office 'bus stop' .... picking up a bit of gossip here and a snippet of news there.It's good to talk and it has to be said that in the business we're in, communication is king.

Simply by standing in the school yard or even the work canteen queue waiting for the usual black filter, two fruity teas, and three coffees I can pick up a corker that's printed the following day.

My husband cringes when he twigs he's told me 'too much' about something he's heard in the local and my mum physically clams up when she realises I've asked one too many questions about her current topic. Without people and communication, we, as a newspaper, are nothing. So I will continue to soak up any snippets I hear along the way.
Even if it does mean I get frowned upon by my managers for talking too much.

It's all for their own good I keep telling them...

Happy families - are they?

2008-12-10T23:14:00.000+11:00

FOR the second time this week, my six-year-old has brought home a book for homework reading practice.

The first was dubbed Miss Dirt the Dustman's Daughter and is taken from the 'Happy Families' range of reading. Settling down to unfold the story one night this week, we were taken on a journey that revealed how Daisy Dirt's dad was a dustman on the dole but her mum had re-married a Duke and became richer than rich.

Daisy's double life was shared spending time between the two parents and saw her going from rich to poor until everything changes. The demise of the Duke sees the filthy rich pair having to sell off their Daimler while dad scoops the lottery and gets himself quids in. The story focusses on the ins and outs of divorce and re-marriage and sets out to a child how 'normal' it all is.

The second book to come home, from the same range, was Ms Cliff the Climber. The clue is in the title as to what happens to this thrillseeking ladette.Every morning, Clara Cliff gets up and puts on her climbing boots. Closely followed by her climbing clothes and her climbing hat. She then climbs out the window ... and up onto roofs of buildings and mountains and all manner of heighty places.

In a nutshell, Clara finds a soulmate who shares her interest of all things rope-like. It follows her story of ups and downs, and tangles in life - from marriage, to children, through a divorce, re-marriage, even more children and in all, having more than the usual quota of family fun and adventure.

I was a little saddened to be reading stories like this to my youngest who, after completing the full range of books, will understand that life isn't always as simple as it could be.

But in all reality, this IS reality and who am I to say any different?

Hommmmmmm ....

2008-12-10T23:13:00.000+11:00

I FEEL liberated. Surprisingly, I haven't yelled at the children since Wednesday and my alcohol intake has depleted.

Suppose I could put it down to what I got upto one night this week. I tracked down a Reiki practitioner and, much to the jibes of even my fondest colleagues, I tripped trapped out to have my inner-being re-tuned. After a half hour chatette, I took to the couch and lay there trying to save myself from an attack of the giggles.

I was asked to close my eyes and fill my head with all things nice while a pink gemmed dowser was hovered over my 1m 83cm horizontal frame. My knee 'told' of the "big decision I was about to make", my heart told her how my emotions were in a bit of a state and my 'third eye' meant any intuition I have is totally off course.

My practitioner then set about curing me of my stress levels and anxieties by placing her healing hands on strategic chakra points of the body. Relaying my session to colleagues the next day resulted in raised eyebrows and smerky smiles but hand on heart, I DO feel 'different'. Perhaps it's a mental thing but I do sense a change in my sometimes irrational behaviour.

The new me will really be tested tomorrow when, after a night out on the town tonight that will probably feature one-too-many-Sambucas, I will put on my best smiles for a one-year-old's birthday party, day of entertaining my cherubs and whatever else the weekend throws at me!

On my way to a new me

2008-12-10T23:12:00.002+11:00

IT'S been pointed out to me that I haven't blogged since June 16... some seven weeks or so.This will highlight the fact that I've either been (a) busy; (b) boring or (c) beside myself trying to get through the school summer holidays with an ounce of sanity intact. I'd like to think it was down to (a) but more realistically it's a combination of (b) + (c) = barren bloggage.

Okay ... so what's been going down in the 'hood? Last week, I had a reading. My 'friend' pretty much read me like an open book ... an upside down one maybe ... but an open one all the same.

He told me that I was put on this earth for the enjoyment of everyone else, I take on the role of an unofficial agony aunt and people are magnetised to my healing qualities.
I really didn't think I had any of those ... my bedside manner is rubbish and my 'sympathetic' "Ah, go on, you'll be alright" attitude when the children hurt themselves is priceless. So, I was surprised to learn of my 'qualities'. That said, those who know me will know I am one of life's creatures who craves a bit of fun, a few smiles and all things rosy and I do have bend over backwards tendancies to sprinkle happy dust over the heads of those who need it.

But now I've been told that all my good karma is being systematically tapped into by everyone else, leaving me drained and in need of sponging some up myself. I'd never have worked that out in a month of Sundays and I'm glad it's been spelled out to me so my mystical 'friend' suggested I go out and find myself a good Reiki practitioner to help me re-establish myself with some inner goodness.

So, I'm off to thumb through the latest edition of the Yellow Pages, looking under 'N' for 'New Woman'. To be honest, I can't wait ... even if I just get an hour's peace on a comfy couch in a darkened room somewhere it'll be money well spent!