Christmas wishes

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunshine n Sleigh Bells

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

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

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

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

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

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

Getting in the mood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Language barrier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Us day spa girls get so spoilt....

Blue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good things come to she who waits...

Behind the scenes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here we go again...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the way it goes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a dog's life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's all in a name

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remembering fondly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy days...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good times.

Tick tock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Used to hate it, now I love it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Learn something new every day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in a mother's days work

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One to tell the grandchildren though I suppose...

The visitors have landed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knuckling down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aussie band in deep water

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

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

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

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

To bathe, or not to bathe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking back

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everybody needs good neighbours

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New girl no more

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, I might even surprise myself...

History repeats itself

OOPS! ... I did it again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can't help but admire them....

Happy New Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year!