There is an Australian tradition of celebrating Christmas in July, on July 25th in fact. There are several reasons for this, namely that it is the middle of winter, (over in the mountains on the east coast they even get snow), it is nigh on impossible to accurately pinpoint the exact birth date of the little baby Jesus - leaving it open to manipulation by large retail outlets, and lastly the fact that (we) Australians are just plain mad.
In a bid to (not quite) fit in, we will be celebrating Christmas in August, complete with secret Santa, tinsel, turkey (subject to availability), Christmas puddings, advocaat and a stonking hangover. Wendy spent most of last weekend preparing and steaming the puddings.. not sure exactly what went into them but we were left with half a can of Guinness a thimble full of port, some dried fruit and 3 buttons. I refused to drink the leftover Guinness because when Wendy poured it she never put the shamrock pattern in the frothy stuff (probably not the correct technical term) on the top, Hattie had a slurp but was left unimpressed and slightly green.
I have been offered one of two roles in the premature Christmas proceedings: either to be the humbug - a role that I have perfected and made my own over the years, or Santa - which, on the whole, appears to be a role for which I have no real aptitude or calling. I do have the suit - it's the weirdest thing, I was just rearranging my genuine 1980's Ourmani suits one day when I came across the full Santa outfit. No idea how it got there, it must just be a sign that this is a role I was born to play. Unfortunately, I've not continued to pile the weight on at quite the same rate as I did when we first arrived in Oz (I've laid off the pies) so it's not what you might call a snug fit.
It's still a couple of weeks before we celebrate the counterfeit Christmas so I may still have time to grow into it - I will also be using this period to try and wipe all comments about bulging sacks, and filling stockings from my mind. In deference to the memory of the late Molly Sugden it will be a double entendre free event.
I was thinking the other day (5.37pm on Wednesday - I made a record of it in my notebook) that George's old Dringhouses pals will be starting secondary school when they go back after the 'big' holidays. So, good luck to them - and please accept this piece of advise from someone who remembers their first day at secondary school as if it was only... errr, 30 years ago. Namely: 'don't throw sticks up at trees to knock the conkers down when the teachers' cars are parked underneath'. Just that, oh, and don't get a crush on Rina Woodward - it will only lead to pain, heartache, frustration and diminished eyesight (when she slaps your face and blackens your eye.
George will be spared these tribulations for some time yet because he doesn't start secondary school until February 2011 - they do an extra year of primary school over here. However, he is about to take an entrance exam (like the old 11+) to see if he can get into one of the specialist State Schools... he was encouraged to do this by his teachers at school it wasn't just his pushy parents piling pressure on him. He takes the exams next Monday and in preparation he has been doing test papers, the questions are brilliant. I believe I would fail because I would have to point out the shortcomings in the questions. For example: Fiona wants to tape a late night movie. It begins at 23:20 and ends at 01:50. What is the shortest videotape she needs measured in minutes? HELLO, Fiona, uh.. Sky Plus? or a DVD recorder at the very least. There was a second part to the question: should she be using VHS or beta max tapes.
Example number two: Ben has two red socks and two blue socks loose in a drawer. They all feel the same to touch. Suppose the first sock he takes out of the drawer is blue. What is the chance of him pulling out another blue sock? Answer: no chance - the next sock he pulls will be a single grey sock (that he has never seen before in his life and that has no matching partner on the entire planet... it's the sock law) and then he won't be to pull any more socks out because they will be stuck to the sweet wrappers, plasticine and congealed Guinness encrusted on the bottom of the drawer. Simple.
Yeah, well the questions he gets on Monday might not be as easy as those. Not sure when he finds out how he got on.
Keeping with the exam theme, Hattie has been persuaded (by her dance teacher not her pushy parents) to take her ballet exam this year. She has always been a bit reticent to do so in the past but is getting a lot more confident of late. I often find her listening and dancing to all the ballet classics... Coppelia, Swan Lake, The Nutcracker and The Legend of Xanadu by Dave, Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mitch and (of course) Titch. Her teacher says she has really come on leaps and bounds (as I suppose you should in ballet) this year.
Wendy's dancing has been something of a let-down recently. Sorry, that wasn't a criticism of Wendy's dancing technique - I meant that last term only half the classes actually went ahead, which was disappointing (apart from anything else it meant that I couldn't get hold of the TV remote). Excuses from the instructor for the classes being cancelled included flu, power failure, the dog eating his cassette recorder, back problems and knee problems. If he's not warming up properly how does he expect his class to? Anyway, she is going to give it another try this term. Basically, she just wants to see what excuses he comes up with this time.
I think we are up to date with all our news now.
Next time I will tell you all about particle physics, the Dada movement and our trip to Melbourne. No, honestly I will.
Catch you again soon,
H
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Conspiracy Theories
Were the moon landings fake, was the CIA involved in JFKs assassination, was Michael Jackson really the king of pop (before he died), and is Harry still around?
Oh the rumour mill has already started... there's been no blog for months, he doesn't appear in any of the latest batch of excellently taken photos, he hasn't been pestering mildy attractive young(ish) women with double entendre filled texts of late and if you play the Elbow song, 'One Day Like This' backwards the vocals sound like Guy Garvey is saying 'Harry is no longer around' - I should also point out that it ruins your CD player, so I don't recommend you try it. There are also rumours that I am about to sign for Manchester United on a free transfer... again, not true.
The truth, is of course, a lot less sinister and easily explained. The blogs have dried up because I am lazy, I've used the same jokes 15 times already and there is currently an abundance of sport on free to air TV over here. I would be watching sport right now but it's a rest day in the Tour de France and England have wrapped up an historic victory at Lords before lunch (your time - before bedtime our time). And within seconds of Graeme Swan taking the final wicket at the home of cricket I was receiving text messages and emails along the lines of: Dame Nellie Melba, Bob Hawke, Phar Lapp, Kylie Minogue, Skippy... your boys took one hell of a beating.
And, of course, I don't appear in any of the beautifully composed photos because I took them all - and, surprisingly, I haven't worked out how to use the auto function yet... because that would involve reading the instructions. I should however point out that there were more photos, but the selection committee deemed them unsuitable for publication. Pics of the Human League, the statue of Bonn Scott in Fremantle and a photo of me looking a lot like a young Ewan McGregor all failed to make the final selection. In the light of these omissions you may be wondering how three photos of George with a large purple balloon made the final cut. The balloon was a stage prop for Adam Hills, an Australian comedian, who George and I went to see at the end of May. Mr Hills is currently starring at the Edinburgh fringe, and will embark on a UK tour in the autumn (tickets are available from all good stockists). I feel obliged to plug his shows because George ended up with a starring role in the Perth one, culminating with him going on stage and subsequently walking away with one of the props. He got picked out early in the performance and became the go to man (boy) throughout the evening. In fact he managed to get three pretty substantial laughs from the audience - I myself only managed one... but it was a bigger one, and, I got a round of applause thrown in for good measure. When we were leaving the auditorium after the show loads of people were talking to George and saying 'well done' - he was slightly bemused by it and couldn't work out how they knew who he was... then I pointed out that he was the only boy in the theatre carrying an over sized purple balloon. One woman thought George had been so good that she wouldn't believe he wasn't a plant... more conspiracy theories. Adam Hills is very popular over here, he hosts a game show that is not unlike Never Mind the Buzzcocks, which meant that George was able to gain some credibility points at school... his ego and the balloon are still pretty well inflated, even now.
Meanwhile, Hattie has decided that she is going to be a designer. I took her to see the film Coco Chanel (starring the mildly attractive Audrey Tatou - who may well get pestered with text messages filled with double entendres in the near future) when we were in Melbourne (Wendy and George went to see Harry Potter). She seemed to enjoy the film, I thought she might have been put off by the subtitles but I think she was more perturbed by the kissing. Anyway, She now wants to design and make her own clothes - I fear for the safety of our curtains, bed covers, and pool blanket.
Well that's all for now, I'll be back soon to tell you more about Melbourne, Rugby League and western Australian dance schools. In fact I'll be back before you can work out what Rolf sings if you play the classic 'Jake the Pegg' backwards.
Regards
H
By the way, I was listening to the best of Frank Sinatra whilst writing this. doo be doo be doo.
Oh the rumour mill has already started... there's been no blog for months, he doesn't appear in any of the latest batch of excellently taken photos, he hasn't been pestering mildy attractive young(ish) women with double entendre filled texts of late and if you play the Elbow song, 'One Day Like This' backwards the vocals sound like Guy Garvey is saying 'Harry is no longer around' - I should also point out that it ruins your CD player, so I don't recommend you try it. There are also rumours that I am about to sign for Manchester United on a free transfer... again, not true.
The truth, is of course, a lot less sinister and easily explained. The blogs have dried up because I am lazy, I've used the same jokes 15 times already and there is currently an abundance of sport on free to air TV over here. I would be watching sport right now but it's a rest day in the Tour de France and England have wrapped up an historic victory at Lords before lunch (your time - before bedtime our time). And within seconds of Graeme Swan taking the final wicket at the home of cricket I was receiving text messages and emails along the lines of: Dame Nellie Melba, Bob Hawke, Phar Lapp, Kylie Minogue, Skippy... your boys took one hell of a beating.
And, of course, I don't appear in any of the beautifully composed photos because I took them all - and, surprisingly, I haven't worked out how to use the auto function yet... because that would involve reading the instructions. I should however point out that there were more photos, but the selection committee deemed them unsuitable for publication. Pics of the Human League, the statue of Bonn Scott in Fremantle and a photo of me looking a lot like a young Ewan McGregor all failed to make the final selection. In the light of these omissions you may be wondering how three photos of George with a large purple balloon made the final cut. The balloon was a stage prop for Adam Hills, an Australian comedian, who George and I went to see at the end of May. Mr Hills is currently starring at the Edinburgh fringe, and will embark on a UK tour in the autumn (tickets are available from all good stockists). I feel obliged to plug his shows because George ended up with a starring role in the Perth one, culminating with him going on stage and subsequently walking away with one of the props. He got picked out early in the performance and became the go to man (boy) throughout the evening. In fact he managed to get three pretty substantial laughs from the audience - I myself only managed one... but it was a bigger one, and, I got a round of applause thrown in for good measure. When we were leaving the auditorium after the show loads of people were talking to George and saying 'well done' - he was slightly bemused by it and couldn't work out how they knew who he was... then I pointed out that he was the only boy in the theatre carrying an over sized purple balloon. One woman thought George had been so good that she wouldn't believe he wasn't a plant... more conspiracy theories. Adam Hills is very popular over here, he hosts a game show that is not unlike Never Mind the Buzzcocks, which meant that George was able to gain some credibility points at school... his ego and the balloon are still pretty well inflated, even now.
Meanwhile, Hattie has decided that she is going to be a designer. I took her to see the film Coco Chanel (starring the mildly attractive Audrey Tatou - who may well get pestered with text messages filled with double entendres in the near future) when we were in Melbourne (Wendy and George went to see Harry Potter). She seemed to enjoy the film, I thought she might have been put off by the subtitles but I think she was more perturbed by the kissing. Anyway, She now wants to design and make her own clothes - I fear for the safety of our curtains, bed covers, and pool blanket.
Well that's all for now, I'll be back soon to tell you more about Melbourne, Rugby League and western Australian dance schools. In fact I'll be back before you can work out what Rolf sings if you play the classic 'Jake the Pegg' backwards.
Regards
H
By the way, I was listening to the best of Frank Sinatra whilst writing this. doo be doo be doo.
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