Twelve Days of Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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???

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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...??

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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...

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...

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

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...

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

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

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.