Traditions have to start somewhere

This was a Sunday, right? We left home at 8:15am, both kids lathered with squillion+ sunscreen. Not hard to find a free car park at that time. We left for the return trip home about 11:45. Perfect. The crowds were beginning to swell, the heat was beginning to sting, and we only had two swimming nappies! Two other families joined us, six little girls in total: Gracie, and Tilda, Annabel and Eleanor, Alannah and Juliet. Lanuages covered were French, Dutch, Swedish, and English. It was a great morning. The older girls entertained each other, and the two "babies" were left to do their own thing without being over-ridden by big-sister. Mummies and Daddies chatted, sipped coffee, and exercised the eyes in the back of their head. Such a lovely family beach. Hardly anyone aged between 12 and 30. I suspect they were all down at somewhere like Coogee.

Looking forward, looking back

Oxford Street Paddington with two minutes between shots: the upper shot at 7:27pm; the lower shot at 7:25pm.

This is primarily a retail precinct, and retail is doing it tough at the moment. People are still spending, but not on 'things' mainly on 'experiences'. This strip is heavily reliant on up-market fashion and shoe shops, with a sprinkling of household accessory outlets. On Wednesday, I will show you just how bad they are hurting.

The upper shot is dominated by the renovated 'Imperial Hotel'. The lower shot is dominated by the Paddington Inn. Both are very nicely appointed, with exceptional diners. They are in the 'experience' category, so should be smiling.

Data for the upper shot: F5.6, S/S 1/1600, ISO 1000, Focal Length 105mm
Data for the lower shot: F5.6, S/S 1/500, ISO 1000, Focal Length 50mm

For young boys, summer never fades

This boy and his younger brother had a wonderful time, flicking sand and water at each other, and trying to run like billie-oh through the shallows to escape - with predictable, and eagerly anticipated, results.


Once again, taken at Watson's Bay, but this time closer to the wharf from where the smell of fish'n'chips was sending me beserk!

Taste Test – Mangoes

There is a glut of these little lovelies at the moment. I am consuming two a day. And I have my preference, but is it justified. I thought I should find out.

There are three varieties here: on the left we have the Calypso; in the centre the R2-D2; and, on the right the Kensington Pride. The middle one should lose on name alone. At the moment the Kensington Pride is selling for $3.98 each. The R2-D2 is $1.98. The Calypso is 2 for $3.00, or a tray of 14 for $13.98. My guess is that this tells us something about either quality, or which variety the consumer likes best.


The R2-D2 is by far the largest. It has a medium uncut aroma, which strengthens a little when sliced. However, I find it to be coarse to the tongue. I remember, when I was young, my mother would serve stewed pears. There were bits of the serving that I did not like. It was only later that I realised Mum included slices of choko to make the pear go further. This mango reminded me of the choko. Coarse and crude, lacking subtlety.

The Calypso is slightly smaller than KP which is smaller than the R2-D2. It has a strong external aroma, which ramps up upon slicing. It is a fine flesh, that is easy on the palate. However, the taste is a little bitter. Unsmooth.

The Kensington Pride is just right. Aroma, taste, touch, juice. To see how best to consume a Mango take a look at my 89 year old father, who used to be a Fruit & Veg man.

Loosening the cobwebs

The bay of Bondi, with Waverley Cemetery in the distance.

Gruffly the sweep (thanks, Midge!) outlined their tactics, drawing mud-maps in the compacted sand, acknowledging both the approaching weather and the increasing swell. The crew nodded, clambered in, heaved onto the receding wave and pulled. Synchronisation came readily.

Out the back of the bay, they turned where the lie of the ocean floor transformed the swell into the breakers that would crash onto the beach. Their glistening shoulders strained with each pull creating a rhythmical glide. Past the cemetery, past the swarming cliff walk, past the glimmering white of the club until, cutting a clean swathe through the sand, they heaved to, once more, upon the beach.

7am surf boat training for ladies

Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race - The Start

Reminiscent of a bunch of cats eager to be fed, the yachts stooged around jockeying for position and for wind. And I guess simply for room to move. The day was grey and mizzley but that did not seem to lessen the enthusiasm of the crowds on each and every headland.


Taking their life in their hands, smaller craft took it to the big fellers for their time in the spotlight, basking in the reflected glory of a Sydney-Hobart start. The SMH has some spectacular overhead shots, especially 3/18 and 17/18. The final shot below, shows the puff of smoke from the canon as the starter warns there is 5 minutes to start. Drivers start your engines ...

Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race - Sailors

Barrows hustled, managers bustled. Tension and anticipation oozed. Weathered profiles contemplated the conditions, the course, the tactics, the contenders.


Gnarled hands of experienced salts gesticulated expansively, as younger members nonchalantly osmosised the ambience. Tactics were determined beyond the maddening crowd. Would the million-dollar mast do the trick? Did they stow sufficient King Island Ash Blue? Would the winds in Storm Bay sweep them up the Derwent or strand them in no-mans-land?


The 2009 Sydney - Hobart Yacht Race line honours winner, Alfa Romeo fom NZ, crossed the finish line into Constitution Dock in Hobart at 10:02pm Monday after being the first out the Sydney Heads on Saturday and leading all the way.

Tomorrow: the starter's canon ...

Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race - Preparations

The overcast conditions, the wind and the scudding rain, sent the sail hands and captains alike on a wild goose chase to batten down the hatches. Three hours remained until that puff of grey smoke signalled the start of the 2009 Blue Water Classic from the line stretched out from Neilsen Park across to Chowder Bay and ending sometime Tuesday at Constitution Dock in Hobart.


The early morning crowd milled and shuffled through the fine mist, exchanging words of wisdom on conditions and tactics. The Cruising Yacht Club at Rushcutters Bay once again hosted its morning of mornings.

A Sydney Christmas - Familytime

Gathering in the apartment of my daughter, we will trade outrageous conservative and liberal political bonmots, devouring the prawns and lobster for which Kirsten and Darren melled in the interminable squash that is the Pyrmont Fish Markets all-night Christmas Eve trade. Washed down by the indupitably first-rate sauvignon-blanc and reisling contributed by Tony, Kirsten's father, and smothered by the fruit flans slaved over by yours truly, the rush to strike the most outrageous social policy stance will invariably be headed by the laterality of son Alastair's brain.

Sated, and ready to declare a social-policy truce until the next gathering, K&D will journey south for an evening meal with the in-laws whereas the rest will repair to my place to install the Wii that the neurologist "prescribed" for my ataxia. Travelling companion, Christine, will join the melee, and the day will draw to a close with a refreshing walk along the sands of Bondi.

May you have a day of laughter, love and friendship in the company of those for whom you care most.

CHRISTMAS DAY The North Wind is tossing the leaves, The red dust is over the town, The sparrows are under the eaves, And the grass in the paddock is brown; As we lift up our voices and sing To the Christ-Child the Heavenly King. The tree-ferns in green gullies sway; The cool stream flows silently by; The joy bells are greeting the day, And the chimes are adrift in the sky, As we lift up our voices and sing To the Christ-Child the Heavenly King.

Bondi Beach looking eastwards from Campbell Parade about 7am

Australian Christmas stamps - 2004, 2005 & 2009

A Sydney Christmas - Summertime

Hanging off the end of the world down here, our forefathers ashamedly denied the reality of their own landscape representing Christmas by snowflakes, and holly, by robin red-breasts and log fires and insisting that Christmas dinner be served at noon with a roast and three veg, followed by treacle pudding (hiding thruppences) drowned in a lumpy hot custard. However, it is futile dreaming of a white Christmas or sleighing in a winter wonderland when outside the weather is 40C and sweltering.

Whether caused by cultural cringe or cultural imperialism, the Twelve Days of a Sydney Christmas endeavoured to show that the old ways have changed. We no longer hark back to days of yore, nor do we ape customs and traditions that belong to others. We live in the Southern Hemisphere. Our Christmas is celebrated in summer.

Welcome to one way we celebrate Christmas.

The Surfer - Judith Wright He thrust his joy against the weight of the sea; climbed through, slid under those long banks of foam - (hawthorn hedges in spring, thorns in the face stinging). How his brown strength drove through the hollow and coil of green-through weirs of water! Muscle of arm thrust down long muscle of water; and swimming so, went out of sight where mortal, masterful, frail, the gulls went wheeling in air as he in water, with delight.

Australian Christmas stamps - 1990, 1994 & 1997