Golden Coats

We're back from the Gold Coast, which really only lived up to its name on the very last day we were there. It's always the way with beach holidays, isn't it? Cold, windy, rainy until the moment when you're repacking the car to go home.

We were down there in order to introduce my parents to Hayden's, as a sort of precursor to the wedding. In fact, my whole family turned up for dinner and it was lovely, just like the engagement party that we never thought we needed. The trip was also supposed to be a nice change for Hayden's parents, Ken and Jillian, from wintry wet New Zealand.

OK, so they didn't get to see much sunshine, but they did get to meet four extremely cute labby puppies, who spilled out of a car in the carpark of the Murwullumbah Rainforest Information Centre. Within one minute, one of the little fluffballs had already nearly drowned himself in the pond.

It was eerily quiet at the beach today

Wet and Cold in the North

Now it's wet and cold. Fat raindrops are glistening on our pet lemons (we've been watching these lemons grow for nearly a year now. It's going to be quite sad when we finally have to cut them up and put them in a pudding).


And look what's written on the thermometer:





sub-20 degrees! That calls for jeans and jumpers and the making of much cosy: a blanky on my knees when I'm watching TV, soups and roasted pumpkin and many other delicious carbs.

It's been a nice change, actually.

Heart Strings = Tug of War

Also last Sunday we caught up with Rob, who has been trying really valiantly not to mope since his girlfriend Hanna left to take up her dream job in Sydney. (I’m trying not to mope without Hanna as well – she was my best yoga buddy and she put me onto aqua-aerobics too. One hour class + two hours chatting over coffee = a morning well spent with Hanna.)

First we let Rob thrash us at 2-on-1 basketball. (He’s really tall. And accurate with the goal shooting even after a couple of beers). Then we thought that a little live jazz down at the surf club might further lighten his spirits.

Townsville can be really tough on couples, and it has been the setting for many a tug-of-war, especially between couples who move to Townsville for one of them to take up a job here. No one moves to Townsville for any reason other than work, and it’s often the case that it’s a good career move for one person, while the other person has to take a serious dip or put their career on hold for the duration. The worst example couple I know is Debbie and Clayton: they moved here from Brisbane so that Deb could become the HR Co-ordinator on a mine site. Clayton's a chef, so he's at his busiest when Deb comes home on the weekend ... not at all ideal.

All the good employment opportunities here are in the "dirty" industries: big dirt-moving machinery, any kind of engineering, any trade, or construction. There’s not much on offer in the sort of work I used to go for – quite high level administration, personal assistant or event co-ordination. There was absolutely nothing here for Hanna, whose specialisation is European languages. That made it really hard for her to stay.

But it’s not always bad. Sometimes it works out really well; mostly when the other person was already looking for an excuse to give up their day job. Hayden and I fall into this category – I agreed to move here on condition that I would work only part time, and that I would have loads of time at home to do my own writing. Al and Julie are another couple who are making the most of it: they moved up here from Melbourne when Julie was offered quite a good job in a law firm; Al now works part time in the bike shop and spends the rest of his time training for Ironman, and it's much better for him to train in the mild Townsville winter than the snivelling Melbourne one, up to the world champs in Kona in August.

We never think of ourselves as here in Townsville for the long haul. We’re only here while it’s good for Hayden’s career - and we'll disappear in a flash when the next opportunity comes along. But already we’ve had way too many goodbye drinks … and it does get me down sometimes.

At the Finish

I have done my fair share of waiting at the finish line in the three years that Hayden and I have been together so far. Yesterday it was his turn to wait for me to finish my very first fun run/walk.












I was going for the title of Queen of the Castle ... but I didn't get it.

Aussie Skimmers

Last night we went to see the men of the Australian swimming team ploughing effortlessly up and down our local pool. They’re going to be training here for the next month.

We were lucky to see them in Townsville. Not just cos it was really convenient for us, but because they had a real Townsville sense of security and paranoia going on – basically, the guy at the pool gate just waved us and our camera through, plus anyone else who wanted to go and have a gander.

However it did seem to me like they have been mucking around with the water. They seem to have replaced all the regular pool water with some scientifically formulated substance that has no more resistance than air. It was amazing to watch. They swam at the same speed that we were walking beside the pool. When they dived in they travelled exactly the same speed over the water as under it, and even after they had stopped their strokes towards the end of each lap, they would still be propelled towards the wall at full pace.

Sticky Mess

It’s true that recently I have been dissing Townsville’s meagre offerings in the realm of music and art. I even felt a bit justified and smug when I read Anna Goldsworthy’s report (in The Monthly) of the Beethoven concert that she and the Seraphim trio did in our local cathedral back in March. It was quite a hilarious recounting of their sweltering performance at the sticky end of Townsville’s wet season (email me if you’d like to read a copy).

But it’s easy to diss. And I feel not so much that my complaints have been heard and rectified as just shamed into a bit of an apology, because we’re getting not one but two really interesting performances up here as part of the Queensland Music Festival. Hayden doesn’t know it yet, but we’re going to drive all the way to Innisfail (about three hours north) especially to hear the one by John Rogers, a long-time favourite composer of mine. (I'll never forget his work based on The Inferno; the last part was performed on a flute and an oboe made of ice and the performance ended when the instruments had melted away.)

Also, I’ll be interested to see what the people of Townsville make of the other performance: the African Children’s Choir. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it has been argued successfully in court that Townsville is a racist town - too racist for an aboriginal person to get a fair trial here. At least one Palm Island resident has had their trial moved to Brisbane for that reason. If it’s true that the town is prejudiced, it’s going to be interesting to see their response to the African kids singing, cos not only are they black but they’ve each lost at least one parent to the African AIDS pandemic (so, you know, probably gay as well?).

I used to be really wary of artistic performances that purported to have some kind of political raison d'etre or a social conscience of any kind ... it always used to seem to me like they were fishing for government grant money more than anything else (and I've written a fair few grant applications so I know how your mind bends trying to come up with an angle that gets them to share their grubby pennies). But this one is going to be co-ordinated by David Bridie who is another one of my old favourites, so it should be in good hands. And, you know, it's going to be one of the two good shows we'll get here this winter, so it's not like I'm going to pass it up.

Gentle days

Winter is definitely here. I know this, because I’ve got a cold. Winter’s here, we’re still sleeping with no more than a sheet on top of us, I haven’t even looked at my cardigan, but I’ve got a cold already. That doesn’t seem fair.


However, I’ve still been enjoying our perfect days of gentle sunshine. My cold is pretty bad, so I’ve not been venturing outside much - the front balcony is about as far as I’ll go, but at least there I get to see what’s happening at the start of Townsville’s “spring”. Actual spring and summer are a bit too hot for plants, so our growing season begins about now. Both Hayden and I planted seeds in our balcony garden a couple of weeks ago, in preparation.

Hayden doesn’t want his plants growing up to be wimps, so he hasn’t given them any fertilizer or potting mix, just plain dirt and a bit of water every couple of days.

My babies have got the full wimp treatment, and not that it’s a competition (of course it’s not) but mine have actually poked their little green heads out of the ground.

Winter’s lovely here.

Here I am

Look, I'm just showing you this because I'm so stoked I've found an alright hairdresser in Townsville. After a couple of disastrous cuts early on in our stay here, I sort of gave up getting my hair cut. That was a while ago.

Today, luckily, boredom came together with a some money burning a hole in my pocket and hey presto! looks OK, don't you think?

Plenty of Class, all of it Low

I should have known. Every time we go out in Townsville, I mentally swear never to go out again. There are plenty of precedents: the "full moon drumming circle" held before the sun went down; the "night markets" selling fried food in a crowded park under blazing genny-powered lamps; the "theatre restaurant" that was just too cringingly awful to describe. But when we received a late invitation to the Lord Mayor's Ball, I didn't think to say no. Firstly, because it had the Lord Mayor's name on it I thought that surely it would have to pass some kind of standard (I should have looked more closely and seen that it was a local business charity ball, at which the Lord Mayor would be appearing briefly). Secondly, because the kind lady who gave us the tickets is also the kind lady who has been swinging me a little freelance work (finally! I'm a real writer now!). Thirdly, because it was dress up. A Pirate's Ball.
Ahrrrgh.





So I went down to the local costume hire shop that also happens to sell a couple of other things, including special cigarettes for mothers day.

And I scraped together a couple of costumes for us, out of what hadn't already been hired by people who got their invitations in the first round. Here's a picture of us before we left:






I don't know what I should say about the actual ball. There was a covers band which was OK. There was dinner. Because it was a charity event I was expecting to sit good-naturedly through a certain amount of lameness. But the 'entertainment' portion of the evening was EXCRUCIATING. There was a lot of terrible, way way way-past-the-line pirate humour of the 'Seaman Stains' variety. There were a couple of 'comediennes' who did an impersonation of Kath and Kim and a guy doing an impersonation of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow (he called himself Jack Sparowfart). And THEN they held the charity auction, in which, for example, a member of the Townsville public paid over $3000 for a framed rugby jersey that may-or-may-not have been worn by Wally Lewis. Or someone else.

Today I am feeling quite tired. And somehow assaulted.

Another ANZAC

This morning we went down to War Park to attend the dawn ceremony again. It was another beautiful and moving ceremony, but as usual I was really irritated by the sight of people wearing their grandfathers' medals pinned onto cheap ill-fitting suits or just plain shirts. I don't know what it is that gets to me so about it.

Anyway, as I'm a pacifist I thought I would spend the rest of the day doing a few of my favourite peaceful activities:

- pouring tea
- putting on my favourite clothes
- sittin on the front porch
- listening to a whole CD
- planting stuff in the garden

Separate Vacations

Last time I tried to capitalise on Hayden’s business trip and turn it into more of a holiday for both of us, it backfired and we ended up spending separate time in Brisbane (and consequently separate time alone in Townsville - exactly what I was trying to save myself from in the first place). I had planned to fly down with him and camp in his hotel room (the Brissie Hilton!) and shop all day while he was working. Alas, I had already booked my tickets when he found out that his trip was to be postponed. My tickets were too expensive to change, so I went by myself. I got mum to drive me around to inspect a range of possible Brisbane wedding location options, of course unable to come to any conclusions without Hayden’s input. And Hayden, a couple of weeks later, swanned through those very venues and ordered from the tops of their menus on the company expense account.

Next month he’s booked to go to Magnetic Island for a week of People Person Training (or some such), and I can’t resist it – I’m going to try again to jump on for the ride and turn his work travel into a kind of holiday for myself, and a home/work clash of uncomfortable proportions for him. I wish I wouldn't. But … I’m so permanently thirsty for travel that I can’t not. Plus I really like Maggie Island. It’s so different to Townsville, and yet only 8 km away by ferry. Mum says it’s got different geology, and I don’t know if it’s the geology or not, but it is much more peaceful, quiet and best of all, nearly red-neck free.

Best Easter.

Under the guise of looking at more potential wedding venues, we travelled north: first inland to Ravenshoe then up to the Daintree coast at Mossman.

Ravenshoe’s regional claim to fame is that it is Queensland’s highest town, and though it isn’t very high above sea level (Australia is not tall - have you been to its highest point, Mt Kosiusko? Grannies with walkers make it to the peak, really) Ravenshoe is a charmingly cool and greenish spot. The main local attraction is the waterfalls, which come with the promise of spotting a platypus. Needless to say, we didn’t spot a platypus. Maybe next time.

The next day, we travelled straight north and arrived at the coast near the Daintree rainforest. This is where the really spectacular rainforesty-mountains-coming-right-down-to-the-sea scenery begins. One day we will take our little Toyota corolla as far north as she can go, up to Cape Tribulation, but this time we turned around at touristy Port Douglas. It was a bit of a shock to stumble into a resort town overrun by pasty Melbournians doing on holidays exactly what they do at home: walking up and down, talking on their mobile phones and eating. It’s been ages since I saw so many bored rich people mooching around one place, and so much blatant mobile phone rudeness: Mums on phones window-shopping for resortwear while their kids literally covered themselves with ice-cream; couples in a restaurant, one talking languidly on the phone to someone else while the other picked at her dinner. Et cetera.


We were a bit intimidated by the yuppies (and I haven't even said that word in over ten years - does this mean we are officially country bumpkins now?) we pitched our tent in the campground next to the backpackers. Later in the night we were both woken by pelting-down rain (ahhh ... wet tropics) and drunken backpackers returning to their tents at dawn.

Still, it was all for the best: at home yesterday we hung the tent out to dry and thereby noticed what a properly howling wind was blowing. Perfect for kite flying! My kite (a birthday present from Hayden last year) looked gorgeous darting out over the water and it only got dunked once or twice.


Perhaps you are still wondering how the wedding venue shopping went?

Well ... nothing to announce yet. Sorry.

Here are some pictures of the corner shop I used to love so much, that is, until they put the price up on a 2L bottle of milk.


I still like the signage, the lolly machines and the grubby public phone just outside - they make me so nostalgic for the corner shop of my childhood in the 1980’s. As does the sight of a loping 13-year-old on his BMX, sent down to the shop by his mum to get a loaf of bread. No-one else can put sulk and angst into bike riding with a loaf of bread dangling from the handlebars.

But new owners have put the price of milk up to $3.53, and they’ve halved the range of cold drinks on offer. It’s not the same anymore, since now I argue with myself about whether to go there or to Bilo which is only about 400m further up the road.

I hate it when things change.

My Quota of Culture

Perhaps because of the conditions under which I demanded a visit to Te Papa museum in Wellington last year, Hayden reckons (he twists my words around) I am due only one classical music concert and one visit to a large art gallery annually. He’s chuffed with himself because according to his calculations I have filled my quota already; little does he realise that a sharp trot through the Brisbane GoMA and Saturday night’s Beethoven concert by the Barrier Reef Orchestra do not count. I mean, it was really nice to see an orchestra, and because we were sitting in row B right down on the left hand side, we were close enough that I could remember exactly what it’s like to sit in amongst the first violins. One of my bookgroup pals is a violinist herself and she has asked me more than once to join the orchestra, and I might even. Hayden please note that this would mean a lot more attendance at classical music concerts for you.

On Sunday it was warm enough to warrant a daytime movie, and we undid all the cultural education of the night before by going to see Wild Hogs. I thought it was going to be awful – the reviewer in the Townsville Bully only gave it two stars – but actually I enjoyed it a lot. It was really funny. Admittedly none of the jokes were really new, but there were enough of them not to mind much. Best of all the four main players, though all men, actually had different characters and even remained true to themselves until the end of the movie. Well done, Hollywood.

Shiny & Useful

It often occurs to me to compare this blog to a mod's motorscooter - it's got all sorts of extra things tacked onto the sides. My latest extra wing-mirror is a map. It's on the right (scroll down a bit) if you want to have a look.

It was also very heartening to learn that there are two other blogs in Townsville. Slightly discouraging to learn that they are both done by the same person.

Turn of the Seasons

It’s happening here too. There’s no change in the foliage or the daily arrival of the sun BUT in the morning when I step onto the veranda to wave goodbye to Hayden, the breeze around me is cool not warm. It's the most refreshing thing you can imagine.

Pleased as Punch

Returned from NZ, we are still digesting the fact that the trip was a success and that this time we have come home nearly no worse for wear.

The moment that Hayden crossed the Ironman finish line was at least two years in the making for him. I’m very proud of him indeed.

Up Castle Hill

There is not much in the way of sightseeing for visitors to Townsville. That's probably not a very clever opening considering that there's a possibility that we'll have our wedding here and we want to get you all to come. But it's true anyway, and even the backpackers on extremely leisurely trips up the east coast of Australia only stay here for the fact that they are allowed to park their campervans at the beach overnight and make use of the free showers, bbq’s, taps and toilets.

However, one thing that we do make visitors do is go to the top of Castle Hill, the big baldish rock that protrudes from the centre of the town. If it's hot and we're feeling lazy we can drive up it, but when Marny was visiting back in November we walked up quite early one morning, and it was a really good walk. Since that day I have been telling myself I'd like to make more of a habit of it, and I finally managed to go again yesterday.

I'm sore today. I think it's going to be quite a while before I go back.

Febfever

Sweltering in the heat, disappointment on the job front, anxiety about Hayden’s upcoming Ironman … the elements of this February are for me exactly the same as last year’s, and actually pretty similar to many of my previous Februaries. In the absence of a day job, I have been watching Dr Phil and he has told me more than once: if you keep doing what you always did, you'll keep getting what you always got.

Actually, quite a lot of what Dr Phil says is pretty sensible. At least he doesn't advise people to live each day as if it was their last. I'm sick of getting told to do that (and I really enjoyed Stranger than Fiction, the story of a man who thought he was going to die then didn't). Here's my advice for any advice-givers out there: please find a new flip phrase with which to try to jolt us from our lazy procrastination.

I'm thinking that it is high time I stopped living as though I was going to die tomorrow. I need to be less in the moment. I need to start working on the assumption that, quite probably, I'm going to be around, day in day out, for some time to come. There's skill in withstanding the mundane, the slightly uncomfortable or inconvenient. I think I need to work on that.