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!
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Saturday, 18 April 2009
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...
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...
Sunday, 5 April 2009
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!
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!
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