Airport peak hour

I collected Cz and Cw from the airport this morning on their return from Canada. Their flight landed ten minutes later than the predicted time on the Flight Radar 24 App principally because the flight was made to do a circuit south of the airport ahead of landing.

Once landed the plane was made to wait nearly twenty minutes on the tarmac before pulling into its gate. I thought the App had frozen when monitoring this but it turns out the plane was blocked from the gate by a late departing flight.

This delay cost me an additional $19 in car parking fees.

Never mind. I had a bit of fun. I displayed my friends' names on my iPad in the manner of Hire Car drivers waiting for their customers, much to my friends' amusement.

Doggy play date

Brunch today with Hn, Mb and Mk. The excuse for brunch was the first play date between Hn's Groodle and Mb's Spoodle which is a cross between a Cocker Spaniel and a Poodle.

This is a Spoodle

Dogs have play dates. I'm learning something every day. Luckily dogs don't require fancy foods or liquids when they date. Adults do. The dogs were completely satisfied with bowls of water. I needed scrambled eggs, turkish toast and a hot chocolate for my part in the date.

Hn's Groodle jumped at me. Mb's Spoodle did not. Mb is obviously a more effective doggy mother than Hn.

Woof, woof...

Some friends just strain the relationship. Today is A's birthday. A couple of days back I asked what her plans were for the day and in the absence of any I suggested we meet for brunch bringing C along with me. A said she would bring B with her.

Selecting a venue was another matter. I invited her to make the selection - it is her birthday after all - but she resisted throwing the choice back to me. Knowing that she would usually be dog walking beforehand I suggested the cafe at Centennial Park...but would she still have the dog with her, I asked, given that outdoor seating which allows for accompanying dogs would be limited. No, A assured me the dog would be safely back home.

So when we arrived at the cafe I was slightly surprised to see A with dog in tow after all.

But not too surprised. So like A to do the opposite of what was arranged. The cafe was packed with no outdoor tables available at all and only one table for four unoccupied inside.

We'd agreed beforehand that whoever arrived first would get a table for the four of us. Naturally, in the interim A had invited two others to join us but said nothing to me. Luckily we were able to squeeze ourselves around that table.

The dog, however, had to be returned home whilst the rest of us waited patiently for the guest of honour to rejoin us.

Poo, poo to that....

C talks a lot of shit. Or rather he talks a lot about shit. His own shit actually. C studies his own poo closely from which he develops theories about his state of health. I suppose there is nothing wrong with that except that I don't understand his need to share his findings so often. Or indeed, at all.

When I was in New York in March I saw a novelty booklet entitled 'What your poo means' (or words to that effect). I couldn't resist and I bought a copy back as a present for C. I wasn't sure how C would react to this present but he seemed to take in good spirit. I noticed he spent a long time reading it afterwards.

Later I wondered if I had been too sensitive to this practice of C's. But I believe I have been vindicated. C recently returned from a long weekend away with his niece. He told me that half way through the weekend she turned to him and said 'Uncle C I don't mind you checking out your poo but please don't tell me about it all the time'.

Shit happens.

Snags? or a snag?

I suppose the writing was on the wall when A invited a court yard full of people for lunch to celebrate her new barbecue only to have most of them regretfully decline as she had unwittingly chosen Mothers Day for the occasion.

We few invitees without any maternal commitments who accepted the invitation arrived with our barbecue related contributions to find that, without telling us, A had decided to have a non barbecue, sit down lunch instead.

On this surprise, at least, A had gambled successfully. The weather turned dramatically after our arrival...

...and poured with rain whilst we remained dry, eating A's hastily re-jigged kitchen cooked lunch menu.

A night at the opera on the harbour

The stage ahead of the performance of La Boheme

Andrew kindly invited me to accompany him and his partner R to La Boheme; this year's Opera on Sydney Harbour. (It wasn't a Freebie; I paid my way.)

As with each of these Operas on the Harbour the emphasis is on spectacle rather than a traditional production of the works.

In this case the setting is updated to the 1960s culminating in 1968 following the Paris student riots. This re-setting worked reasonably well to my mind.

Apart from the primary aim to make a profit and I imagine that Opera Australia hopes these annual productions bring a new audience to Opera and apparently surveys indicate that the audiences by the harbour include significant numbers of first timers. I wonder whether they become repeat attendees and, more importantly, start to attend productions during the Opera season? In the Andrew's and R's case I believe they enjoyed the spectacle - albeit in some discomfort on the hard plastic seats - as one-off event but are not won over to becoming regular attendees.

The company taking its bows at the conclusion of La Boheme.

✮✮✮

What's in a name?

My friend H has a new puppy; a groodle which is a mix of golden retriever and poodle.

I think she looks cute. The puppy's name is Maili. You have a choice regarding the meaning of the name depending on which origin you prefer. There are Irish, Polynesian and Hebrew origins. From Polynesian roots the meaning is gentle breeze. From Hebrew the meaning is sea of bitterness or rebelliousness. From Gaelic the meaning is pearl. The name is a variant of both Molly and Mary.

The ladies who lunch?

L and W decided we should have meet for lunch ahead of Christmas. 'We' being a group of six former co-workers plus two hangers on (read one husband and one gay friend) who periodically socialise over lunch. L and W would be described by some as 'fag hags' but that is a term I have never liked; it sounds tacky and pejorative to me. They chose the location, a Pizza restaurant in the CBD which the others didn't fancy from the experience of previous visits but, hey, I eat occasionally at the Golden Arches so what do I care.

The day before the lunch both L and W dropped out for personal reasons leaving the rest of us to lunch at a venue most didn't want to attend. The socialising was enjoyable but the others criticised the food (predictable) and (rightly) challenged being charged for a non appearing salad. The bill was adjusted.

I didn't notice the apparently slack service the others commented on and was content with my Pepperoni Pizza minus Olives. No doubt I reeked of garlic afterwards.

Lunch at a venue no-one wanted to attend organised by two ladies who failed to attend.

Let us eat cake

Home made by a Czech friend. More savoury than sweet. Delicious.

Grab your coat and get your hat....

....leave your worry on the doorstep

Just direct your feet

To the sunny side of the street.*

I'm not going to bore you here with the seemingly endless saga of my friend's move from a house to an apartment. After literally years of 'will she do it' or 'won't she'; today 'she did it'. She moved from her house of thirty-five years to a very smart nearby apartment. We three friends were on hand to assist. In her mind I think we were moral support at a time of stress.

It was not a copybook move. Far from it. Cartons were packed but none was labelled. Which cartons contained her clothing and which contained the bed linen? Your guess is as good as mine. What was going and what was being discarded? We didn't know and nor it seemed, at times, did she.

The removalists filled their van and delivered the goods to the new address all by lunchtime today. Did they capture everything? Well, no. A microwave and a vacuum cleaner were left behind. Oh, and when we checked again, so were three large garden pots and at least three trays full of domestic cleaning material. And then there was the huge print of the harbour on the wall. How had that been missed?

But wait, there was more. Two cupboards full of pots and pans and saucers. And a step ladder; actually two of them. And what about that decorative container with the ashes of a dead pet? Yes, that was missed as well.

No. It wasn't a copybook move but its done now. Well, the delivery part is done. Now for the unpacking.

(* 'On The Sunny Side of the Street' by Jimmy McHugh and Dorothy Fields)

'What's new?'

Now that is a question to strike minor terror in my heart. It is a common, seemingly inoffensive way to open a conversation. One of my friends will begin every telephone conversation with that question even if our previous conversation was only a day or two earlier. So why does my heart sink when I'm asked it?

I put my reaction down to my upbringing. Mine was a solitary upbringing. I was an only child. No siblings. My only two cousins arrived on this planet years after I did and so there was no childhood connection there. My parents, struggling to establish themselves financially, both worked full time in part to finance the very expensive private school in which they had placed me. They could not afford to repay the invitations that other parents made for me to spend time with their children. As a result those invitations, few in number anyway, dried up after a while.

Apart from school time, mostly spent regimented and disciplined in the classroom, I spent very little social time with anyone remotely similar in age to me. I never really learnt the skill of playful, casual chit chat.

So, nowadays when someone asks me, 'what's new?' I am in a dilemma. OK, if it happens that I have just purchased a new apartment or I have just returned from an overseas holiday or I have just been diagnosed with a terminal condition then I do have something new to report. But what about those long strings of weeks, week after week after week, when none of those things nor nothing remotely similar has occurred? What do I say then?

Perhaps I could model myself on another friend whose every telephone conversation includes a detailed run down of what he has done that day. He doesn't even require me to ask the question. In that event, my every (weekday) response to the question would be as follows. I got up and I shaved and showered and dressed. I ate two Weet-bix and some prunes for breakfast, drank orange juice and took my daily medication and then I drove to work etc, etc, etc.

In effect; everything old, is new again.

A kiss on the mouth may be quite continental

A good friend, Jo, hosted her annual Christmas drinks this evening. We were work colleagues in years past. A divorced grandmother, Jo has a large number of gay friends who are often well represented at the annual gathering.

My first attendance at the function years ago was revelatory for me. There were workmates at the party I already knew or suspected to be gay but then there were workmates who had totally escaped my gaydar. The 'outing' of the latter category wasn't achieved merely by their attendance at Jo's party, of course. The clincher, so to speak, was how these already seasoned attendees at her parties greeted and farewelled each other with unabashed mouth to mouth kisses.

I was surprised at my slightly shocked reaction to the sight of those men kissing at that first party. After all I was a gay man of many decades standing. I had kissed and enjoyed kissing many a man myself and it wasn't that I hadn't seen men kissing before.

None of these men greeted or farewelled me with a kiss at that first party nor at subsequent parties. Perhaps I came across as standoffish? I grew up as a gay man in an era when homosexual activity was illegal - even in private - so public displays of man to man affection were just not on. In any event I had never been a great one for public touchy feely activity.

Well, that changed today. Nothing else seemed different about today's party so I don't know what triggered the change but it was as though I had been inducted into a club. I was kissed and I kissed in return.

How continental was that? How gay.

The farm and an oriental touch

This morning was spent at The Farm Byron Bay which is a'working farm' turned into a leisure enterprise with retail and food/cafe outlets.

There were plenty of families about as well as obviously locals identifiable (if I may comment so) by their mode of fashionable attire (trendy shorts, casually draped tops, and up market sandals) and sun/wind touched yet curiously unblemished faces.

A couple of snaps.

Afterwards we shopped at the local mall for this evening's meal, the theme of which was decided as oriental in respect of our Beijing connections. The meal comprised Mongolian Lamb, Crispy Beef strips and Curried Prawns.

Dessert was a Panna Cotta which as dictated by Masterchef judges as a requirement did wobble impressively.

Ballina bound

My few loyal regular readers will know that I regularly have get togethers with some close friends from our days working as expatriates in Beijing.

In our case we meet two, sometimes three, times in a year across the three locations of our residences, namely Sydney (myself), Brisbane (Ll & Fd) and Ballina (Mt).

This weekend Mt is hosting us in Ballina. The flight up was uneventful and punctual. The Jetstar aircraft, as usual, was tightly packed in both respects. Most seats taken and the one (economy) class structure leaving little leg or wriggle room for tall people like me.

Mt met me at the airport and we were at home ten minutes later. Ease of traffic and short travel tines being one of the joys of living in a regional town like Ballina. Ll & Fd arrived from Brisbane by car a few hours after my arrival. As is often the case were also joined by Rs & Gg, good friends who were not Beijing expatriates but whose company we all enjoy.

Menu this evening courtesy of Mt was Parsnip Soup, Lamb slow cooked in red wine served with healthy vegetables and store bought cheese cake for dessert.

Catching the High Riser

In Melbourne for a brief weekend visit I caught up with Andrew and his partner R for coffee (actually in my case, hot chocolate) at Riverland Bar and Cafe adjacent to Federation Square.

Riverland Bar and Cafe

The weather was rather cool although at that time sunny and thankfully not as dire as the forecast had promised. Hail had been a possibility.

I was on my way to see a performance of 'Funny Girl' just across the bridge visible in the photograph. It was, as always, a pleasure spending time with them.

Up, up....

...and away.

A long weekend in Brisbane with friends coming up.

Take off, over Sydney

Sydney Harbour

Sydney's northern peninsula

Gold Coast, Queensland

Landing at Brisbane

Housebound

Plans for this weekend included a barbecue on Sunday to mark the birthdays of numerous Geminis in our circle of friends, the almost obligatory weekend cinema visit on Saturday with Cs and the almost as regular emergency visit to sort out another friend's computer 'difficulties'.

All of that went down the drain - almost literally - when a huge rain and wind storm affected pretty well all of the eastern seaboard of Australia from Southern Queensland to Tasmania.

Some damage in Sydney and surrounds has been horrendous. I am lucky. No damage or injury suffered although rain and wind forced water somehow through windows or brickwork and lay in small pools on my kitchen floor.

The house next door, sold only last week, lost a tree which landed on our property. The volunteers of the State Emergency Service were on our grounds in horrendous conditions late Sunday removing the tree.

Those volunteers are wonderful and I thank them for all that they do.

The barbecue was cancelled. The cinema visit was cancelled too and Ae's computer difficulties have to wait for a calmer day.

All in all, from Thursday night to Sunday night I only went outside twice, for about thirty minutes each time, to shop at the nearby Woolworths.

The bullet proved unpalatable

Well, that bullet proved to be unpalatable.

My friend took three others to inspect the property she intended to bid for and each found something about it to criticise. 'I don't want to live somewhere that makes my friends uncomfortable' she told me later.

So, that purchase is off the agenda but the search for a new home goes on.

Biting the bullet

For the past four years a friend has been vacillating over the sale and purchase of property. She desperately wants to move out of her home of the past thirty years or more which is in a prime location but badly in need of refreshment. She wants something equally well located but smaller and in good condition.

The problem is she is scared. The adventurous, carefree woman I knew when we were in our twenties is a cautious, frightened late 60s senior. Unfortunately she has fallen out with siblings who for decades were her closest and trusted confidantes.

I find myself walking a tightrope. I respond to her requests, almost pleas, for advice but as I am neither legally trained nor expert in real estate processes I want to avoid losing our friendship over some perceived catastrophic decision based on my assistance.

I hope it works out for.....and for me.

A development too personal

These smiling people may be graduates of a personal development program whose website this photograph adorns. Or they may be professional models.

I don't really care.

Jm, a friend of more than 45 years, is two thirds of his way through the program. It involves a considerable investment of time and (not surprisingly) money. It begins with thirty hours over one extended weekend spent in a classroom situation followed by three hour seminars per week for the following eleven weeks. Oh, and there is also a weekly hour long telephone conference with a group of fellow development 'undergraduates' during those eleven weeks.

Jm's three adult children and his wife have all undertaken the course at different times; indeed his wife is embarking on a second tier program of similar duration and (apparently) structure.

The program's advertised aim is to bring about positive, permanent shifts in the quality of (a participant's) life. 'Create power, freedom, full self expression, and peace of mind for your future' the program's website advertises. 'Peace of mind' is even marked as a registered trademark although it seems to me to be a very common saying.

The structure of the program has an in built strategy for identifying potential future suckers participants. On week seven of the eleven weeks of 'seminars' the participating undergraduates are asked to bring along a guest (or guests) who are given a taste of the program and its benefits and who are invited to sign up, 'no pressure', for future programs.

Jm invited me to be his guest and in a moment when friendship trumped intention, I accepted his invitation.

It was pretty well what I expected. Toothy, smiling, advocates of the program enthusiastically welcomed me to the gathering with the zeal and creepiness I associate with Hillsong and similar religions all the while invading my personal space with a leery manner.

There were about forty participants and their guests present for the evening. Current participants were called on to state their 'breakthrough moments' on the program to date; each dutifully confirming the life changing effects. Participants and guests alike were then taken through a series of exercises to identify and address one aspect of our lives that was 'not working' and that we would seek to change. The two session leaders both delivered personal revelations and as I expected one had a teary, heartwarming situation to relate to the group.

I found it curious that the evening served the dual role of being seminar seven for the existing participants and an information, preview session of the total program for the guests. Surely, I thought, the participants, by then effectively sixty-six hours into the program, would expect something more developed for their time and money invested.

Eventually the 'soft sell' of guest registration into a future program was introduced. Twice. 'Lift the burden from your shoulders by signing up tonight' was the leverage. It is true that this was delivered without pressure. Twice. However, when it was clear, after the second invitation, that I was not rushing to register, a 'graduated' person appeared by my side with the hard sell. This man had the appearance and build of Pacific Islander. He looks much like many of the bouncers we see around Sydney's troublesome night spots. He pressed for a while but then disappeared from my side when he realised I was firm in making no commitment that night.

The exercises we participated in on the night were quite useful as examples of applying organised thought to personal issues. The undergraduates I spoke to all appeared genuine about having benefitted from their participation.

I tend to approach these development programs with a cynical mind. Mostly, they are not for me. I know I have my faults. I also know that I have successfully addressed many of them from life experiences over the years; sometimes by painful learning from repeated mistakes.

Good luck to those who are enthused by this type of program. It is not my style.