I can’t figure out what I’ve done with the comments. They’re busted. I think this blog needs an overhaul, anyway – it’s been ages since I did the templates. Probably also need to update to new MT. Or new blogging tool.
News:
– We are biking tourista grande! We are riding our bikes everywhere. I am trying to find a nice way of putting them on a map. Bikely isn’t very helpful (it has a craptastic site). Am considering special cycling blog. Nerdy enough? NO! But we have discovered some lovely river-side bike paths (Cooks River) and some sneaky off-road shady tree lined bike paths (somewhere in… Petersham? Parallel to… Hewson Canal ?). We have also decided we don’t like riding through stupid Darling Harbour (well, across that bridge – the Piermont? – it sucks) because not only are pedestrians dumb, but tourist pedestrians are stupidly dumb. I am also having brought home to me just how un-bike-aware Sydney drivers are. It’s like they freak out when they see a cyclist – they swing out really wiiiiide to get around us. Or they crawl along behind us. Melbourne motorists have mad cyclist-aware-skills. Also, Sydney drivers pull up at traffic lights at the very last minute. This is terrifying if you’re just in front of them, pulled up with one leg down, waiting for the lights to change (but also makes the point: do NOT hug the curb at lights – TAKE THE ENTIRE LANE).
If you’d like to come bike riding with us, drop me a line. I am very unfit atm, so we go slow. Especially on hills. We have taken many friends for their first-in-10-years bike rides. They’ve liked it. We’re kind and are quite happy just to poodle along, chatting and sticky beaking.
We also avoid busy roads and we like to explore and ‘just have a look’. We like a combination of urban streets (lots of windows to look in) and leafy bits. We’ve been surprised by how leafy Sydney is, and how many nice, quiet streets there are right here in the inner suburbs. There are also some really great bike paths. Even the city (on a Sunday) isn’t so scary. Though I don’t ride on the actual road.
We also like to stop regularly for cake.
– It was recently very hot here in Sydney. But now it is only quite warm and incredibly humid. It’s been drizzling all afternoon. That’s good, because we rode to Bunnings in Ashfield today (via Harbourfield) and bought plants. When we got to Bunnings we were (once again) shitted off by its shitfulness: no bike loops (well, duh – it’s like _the_ most car-centric place ever… after Ikea), inept staff, etc etc. But we bought plants. A grevillea and some sort of native climber (whose name I can’t remember). I wanted Telopea and Protea, but they are fuck-off expensive (as in $50 for small pots). So we said “fuck off!” and got the common-as-muck moonlight grevillea and cheapy native climber. Then we rode home. It was so hot. It was overcast, but I got burnt badly. Because I am a dickwit.
When we got home we rested. Then we cleaned our house. Then we planted the plants. I actually supervised (because I am still injured – and will be for at least another couple of months, if not forever (the future isn’t looking too good for my poor foot injury, but I don’t want to talk about that because it makes me cry. A future without dancing will do that.) The Squeeze dug. In the light rain. He was sweating more than it was raining because it’s so warm. The holes are great, though. And the dirt drains nicely. Anyways, we planted those suckers.
Now we need another grevillea. I did see something I liked: some sort of grevillea (or was it a narrow-leafed banksia?) which had dark purpley/marooney leaves. It was neat. I was thinking a couple of those with a bunch of knee-high purple grasses (which were just near by) would be wonderful. But I can never go past the grevillea. And I wasn’t sure the purple one flowered – it didn’t have a very useful tag. I did want to get something indigenous to this area, but, frankly, we’re a bit short of accessible nurseries here. You have to have a car to really get sweet lowdown. I am going to check out the Marrickville markets some weekend soon – I need a cheaper source of plants. And I also want to stay away from the Bunnings type plants. I want something that’s not force-grown in big green houses or big plantings. I want tough plants grown in some poppa’s back yard in cheap pots. Something street-wise and rough.
Anyways, I’m going to get those natives happening down the front, in front of the main bedroom windows. The climber will climb up the railing on the front steps (but I’ll clip it to stop it getting onto the top rail). I’d really like to plant up the grass down there with some taller native grasses, but I don’t think our land lord would like that. I’m also thinking about veggies and herbs again. I just can’t live without my herb garden any longer. And this weather is so plant-perfect. We’ll see.
– Today we saw something awesome. As we were digging in the garden (well, The Squeeze was the one actually digging – I was standing under an umbrella in his crocs supervising and carrying the watering can) a bunch of rowdy cockatoos landed on the facade of the olden days flats on the opposite corner. There were about six or eight of them and they were obviously feeling their oats. Feeling all charged up by the cool and wet (after a little research, I’ve discovered they like to flap about in the rain to bathe themselves). They clambered about on the front of the building shouting for a while. Then they flew over to the olden days garage on the other corner. That’s when things got good. They’re such big, flamboyant birds. All yellow combs and huge white wings. They were very loud and social and clambered about all over the place, using their beaks and claws to get about. They were also digging about in the cracks of the buildings and the power pole. They spent some time pulling the power pole to bits (literally – they pulled great chunks off the top and threw them on the road) and shouting. Then they started pulling bits off the garage’s facade.
They started just digging in the cracks and pulling off bits of plaster. Then they started pulling bricks out of the facade. Real bricks. The big chunks of masonry and plaster and brick fell down with big crashes and the cockatoos shouted and laughed and called across to each other. They were spread out all over the facade and the power lines and power poles, upside down, ride side up, combs up, wings out. It was awesome. Eventually the guy in the flat above the garage stuck his head out the window to see what was going on. The cockatoos kind of sneered and shouted at him and carried on. Until one pulled a massive brick out of the wall and nearly dropped it on another who was trying to pull the window awning off. Then they got a scare and had a shout at each other, then flapped up to the power pole. And then down the street. It was like a rowdy bunch of… large, rowdy birds… were moving their way down the street, shouting and talking and pulling shit to bits. It was fully sick. I didn’t think to take a photo til far too late. So just take my word for it, ok?
It’s nice to live in a city with lots of native trees and plants, and, consequently, lots of native birds. Unlike noxious-weed-Melbourne, which is chock full of stupid introduced plants.
– Today we rode up the bike route to a little cafe in Dulwich Hill. It was full of skanky yuppies. The food was ok. Then we decided to ride on to the Bunnings in Ashfield via Harbourfield. I got burnt. We both got freakin’ hot. We rode back from Ashfied. We are badarse.
Yesterday we went in on the train to Town Hall station to collect The Squeeze’s bike from his office. Then we rode across Piermont Bridge, down the side of Darling Harbour. We spent some time looking at a ship. That was neat, but not as neat as the books in Piratica. They’re the best because they’re pirate ships. Captained by women.
Then we rode along the beach, looking at yuppy warehouses flats. They were boring. We rode past the park where they were having Jazz On The River. The grass was all brown, crackly sticks.
Then we rode on to the Fish Market. The market was hot and crowded and The Squeeze didn’t like it. So I foraged some sushimi, prawns and octopus. Then we rode on.
We were pretty freakin’ hot by then, and I was feeling weak, so we caught the light rail (which is just like a kind of piss-weak tram, but with REAL conductors (so you have to buy tickets) and which you can TAKE YOUR BIKES ON !!1!). That was a nice, short trip to Lillyfield.
From Lilyfield station we rode up the hill across Paramatta Road, then up a little hill and taking a right turn at a little cafe (which was called something like Lily and Somebody or something. It had its name written in white in ‘American Typewriter’ font on the window and was closed). Then we rode along the bike lanes to an old building which looked a bit like an old train station or some sort of feed station (a sort of Victorian loading or despatch dock).
Then we kept on riding along the ridge til we got to… um… a park.
Then we turned left on a road which had no cars at all.
Then we… rode a bit. Then we went down the Hewson Canal bike path, which is very nice and shady, but made me think ‘don’t ride here by yourself ever, ladies.’ We saw no one on that very nice bike path but three tiny little girls with bright white hair and one giant, bald dad.
Then we rode on and up til we got to the road that goes under a bridge – the end of Marion Street (which I think of as the road near the corner where I nearly stacked it on our first Big Ride).
Then we continued on and got onto another bike path past a giant dog park with about a squillion dogs roaming about.
Then we rode on to the bike path that runs along the canal that goes into the ocean.
Then we rode on. I can’t remember what happened there, but we ended up coming out on Old Canterbury Road at that weird stop sign. Then up Old Canterbury Road to Dulwich Hill. I was especially badarse on that last bit.
Basically, I am badarse because I’m not scared of hills any more. The Squeeze is badarse because he rides his one-gear bike very slowly, just behind me (but not too close or he gets yelled at). Going slow is harder than going fast.
Category Archives: domesticity
i need that little nibble more
We are sitting on the malodorous settee listening to CW Stoneking (pwning present, Squeeze!) and playing on our laptops. I have just finished all the cashews. I have also eaten the last gingerbread tree biscuit. The Squeeze has eaten the last mince tart. Neither of us can bare another piece of turkey, though we are thinking about having meat cake* and tomato soup for dinner.
The Squeeze has been making his way through some chocolate hearts (the 2nd mother apparently has a standing order with her chocalatier). I thought I might fancy a nibble of milky chocolate.
“Can I have a lick of that chocolate?”
I look up to see him carefully transporting it from his mouth to the wrapper. It is largely intact and has only a thin layer of kiss. I decide I need that little nibble more than we need to adhere to The Rules.
*aka stuffing that has not been stuffed into anything.
mid-christmas time-wasting
The turkey is in the oven (since 11, eta 1.30), the custard is made (using, once again, Delia‘s recipe), prawn recipe is floating somewhere in my near-conscious mind. Not at the front, though. That’s occupied with:
– cherries (eating)
– ‘I like pie, I like cake’ (courtesy of the Goofus 5) is my christmas theme song (finally, I succumb and am playing it over and over so I can finally exorcise it)
– possible timing for roast potatoes
– phoning parents (who’re in Brisvegas for christmas with the brother before they fly out to Hong Kong for awesome new year action)
– emusic (goddamn it… I just can’t stay away. Now it’s Ruth Brown with this awesomely-80s-covered album)
There’s more family on the way for lunch, and we have now called the international family, so that’s all done. For the hour before lunch, this lot (the Squeeze’s mum etc) have all disbanded to various spots around the house and garden for reading books, playing ipod games and fiddling about on the internet.
There’s no trifle this year (though I have hope for later in January), but food-wise, it’s not too shabby. In the spirit of christmas awesomeness, here’s Delia and Snoop Dog makin’ wid de potato magic.
waaaaaah
In the two weeks I was in Melbourne I read three of these young adult books. They’re called ‘Pretties’, ‘Ugglies’ and ‘Specials’ and they’re by some guy whose last name starts with W. I want to read the last one, ‘Extras’. They’re not very good, but they’re quick reading. I am very into young adult fiction (YA for those of us in The Trade) atm, mostly because of ‘Titus Groan’.
Now I am reading this other dumb YA book called ‘City of Bones’ or ‘Bone City’ or whatever. It’s kind of crap. No Diane Wynn Jones, that’s for freakn’ sure. Also, finishing off ‘Tehanu’ the other day (go Ursula Le Guin, go!) has ruined me for anything less. Jeez, that’s some good shit. Also, has anyone read the other ‘sequels’ in the Earthsea series? I think I might.
Basically, this big binge on books (I’m also reading ‘1984’ for the first time) is the product of a trip to that giant second hand book shop in Newtown and some time in Melbourne with Galaxy. She made me buy books (well, I bought the two Buffy season 8 volumes I was missing, but didn’t go with the Angel because it was all FREAKING EXPENSIVE. No more Minotaur bookshop for me). I also went to a game shop and bought some more Cheap Ass games (NEED GAME PLAYING FRIENDS! NOW! min. 2 players for my 3-player games). And I bought a broach. And then, because I was obviously ridin’ HIGH on the crazy horse, I stopped. But the ride, while it was on, it was so good.
So now I am all about buying books. Usually I wait for The Mother to bring up a shipment or I re-read, but I can’t re-read those bastards any more. I can’t even count how many times I’ve read them, but we’re over 10. So now I’m buying the buggers.
Also, I am thinking about emusic again.
And, I haven’t bought anything for anyone for christmas except my little brother’s kids. Because I am crap. But I’m not sure anyone but me wants Chronological Classics CDs, jewelry by local artists, squids of YA fiction (actually, I’m not sure about that one – I think one of my nieces is into books. Because she is into adolescence, almost, and has turned into the nerd of the family. Finally – another nerd is born. She aims to be a chef when she grows up, so I figure that’s a win).
Anyways, I hate buying christmas presents. I’d rather make them, but the fabric shop is TOO FUCKING FAR AWAY. It makes me crazy.
And, I have injured my plantar fascia, so I am hobbling around in pain or sitting on my arse watching DVDs (Heroes is less than A1 second time through, but it fills the gap). Or reading YA fiction. Can I just say: YA was better in My Day. Which was about the 70s, apparently, as that’s when all the YA books my Ps had were published. Considering I was born in 1974, I guess they were planning ahead. Phew.
Have I mentioned the pain in my foot? Physio has hopes for me and a big dance camp in January, but I’m not so sure. It’s a lot of pain. I blame MLX. I can’t walk without pain. I can only just walk without a limp. Most days. I do the exercises, though, and I hope. I’m not sure about this getting older thing. It was better when I could just drink drive and get into pakour. Now that I am old, I am reaping the effects of my ill-spent youth. Which, actually, was mostly spent wearing docs and shaving my head. Oh, and going nuts in the university library. With the books. Because, you know, the UQ library had a fair few more books than the Sandgate High library. And you could just _borrow them out for free_!
Anyway, with that and all the disco dancing, I think I damaged myself a bit. The physio reckons fracturing something in my ankle horse riding when I was in my early 20s is responsible for a dodgy ankle today. At the time, I shrugged it off. Today, I suffer. Also, the once-fractured right wrist is also giving me trouble. So this is the lesson: breaking limbs has long term consequences. Which SUCK ARSE.
I am not coping well with the enforced home-stay. I want to go out. Into the world. I hadn’t realised just how much walking I do in my day to day life. To the train station, down hill (excruciating on the home trip). To Ashfield for groceries (returning home to empty house, home alone til the weekend, local shops CRAP for veggies, partner working full time so can’t go to shops: shitful!). To Marrickville to explore the local fabric shop. To the train station for a 2 part trip to the fabric shop in Green Square. Around Circular Quay, just to look.
Not to mention dancing.
Anyway, if I had a car, I could probably get around. But I’m relying on the bus, and it’s not so good. It’s just about driving me MAD.
A trip to Burwood yesterday to see a (terrible) film was really hard. I wanted to look in the Burwood shops and eat dumpling. No. Go straight to the cinema. Once I got there, I was in real pain. Then I had to stop off in Ashfield for our veggies. That was ok, but by then I couldn’t imagine getting home from the train station in Summer Hill. So I caught a cab. It was so frustrating and painful – ordinarily the 20minute walk to our house from Ashfield would be delight. I’d walk through the park and pick some rosemary. I’d sticky beak in people’s gardens. I’d think about things. But yesterday, it was a big piece of crap. Getting a cab felt like a failure.
The physio says riding a bike would be a bit less painful. But I have this stupid left over cold from MLX which is also making me very tired and weak. Which is probably why yesterday was so hard. But I’m also still scared of the traffic.
Fucking hell, this sucks. Injuries: be over! But the physio says we’re in for a month of work before I can dance. Which makes me cry. No christmas performance :( No social dancing at three christmas parties. Nothing.
I think I’ll buy myself another book. Or perhaps a few million more songs on emusic. I deserve them.
hairy feminist signing in
I’ve had hairy legs and armpits for so long I tend to forget that there’s anything unusual happening down/under there. But every now and then someone else’ll notice, and I’ll get a suprise. Look at that! Who’d have thought!
I’m always impressed when I see other Ladies with hairy armpits – that’s awesome. And I see them so rarely. It seems the most radical people on campus these days are academics – if I see someone with hairy armpits (international symbol of radical inattention to grooming) I think “YEAH!”
But every now and then someone else’ll notice and I’ll remember. Usually, their gaze gets caught. And they keep having to look. And they look away. And they have to look back. It’s kind of odd – I mean, it’s so ordinary to me, I simply don’t notice it. But for most people, a Lady with hairy pits or legs is so unusual it gets a stare. I mean, people can’t even really See homeless people on the street, or a guy asking for a dollar. But they can’t look away from a bit of delicate insulation.
I’ve always been a bit disappointed I don’t have really hairy legs, but since giving up shaving as a bad job in 1990 (grade 10, thanks) and forgetting to shave my armpits at about the same time, what little hair I do have has gotten a lot less fierce. It’s kind of soft and delicate. It lacks angry feminstah passion.
I’m not much into ‘beauty products’ either. Sorbelene, shampoo and conditioner, herbal toothpaste, blistex for my chapped lips and some no-chemical soap. That’s all I need. Oh, and a bit of hair colour for when I’ve forgotten to get a haircut. Because I figure it’s not worth being scruffy if you don’t make the most of it. It takes me 15 minutes to get ready to leave the house.
Something that’s brought home to me whenever I spend any amount of time with another woman who isn’t as into minimal grooming (and, well, that seems to be most women), is just how much time all that grooming takes up. I really can’t believe people waste good reading time shaving their legs. Or good bullshit-story-telling time in front of the mirror. I rarely look in the mirror (puberty’s over – the good stuff has happened and I doubt anything much is going to change for the next twenty years). I’m not about to tell people to get over that grooming stuff – that’s their business. But it really does stun me.
The bit that really bothers me is the fact that most men don’t bother with this stuff either. Sure, there’re stories about metrosexuals (and I do have a few in my acquaintance), but for the most part, all this attention to physical appearance is something that clutters up women’s time. Would it be wrong for me to point out that all that grooming really is part of a grand plan to keep you from Looking Up and noticing that there’s more important shit going down? I mean, how could we possibly get on with fighting The Man (or kicking arse with righteous fury) if we had to stop and spend two hours every day fixing our hair? I mean, how much fun are we if we’re always worrying about what we eat or how our trousers fit us? If my arse is inside my pants, I figure it’s a win. If I’m clean, then we’re all laughing.
So what I’m saying is: grooming. It’s ok – it’s not bad in itself. But when it’s only the ladies who ‘have’ to do it, then there is something wrong. That’s not cool.
I have plenty of more important things to think about. Who’s going to relearn all those historic jazz dance routines? Who’s going to sew all those amazing new clothes? Who’s going to teach those darling little chundergrads about essay structure? And the internet’s not going to fill itself full of shit, is it?
I’m also a little concerned by the emphasis on pain and self-punishment in grooming. Don’t eat that, even if you want it: deny! Pluck that hair out – handle the pain! Put that hot wax on yourself, then pull it off (but don’t you dare get turned on)! Stick that chemical-tested-on-bunnies right up in your delicate eye ball. Wash your vag out with that stuff. Wear that incredibly constraining waistband – you won’t want to do any dancing or stunts or have any fun. And no one will want to see your fabulous physical comedy.
I mean, really, am I alone here? Is it just me that thinks all this shit is just plain nuts?
[btw this rant is in part inspired by a fabulous collection of Germaine Greer’s letters to newspaper editors and small publications. I want it.]
scarily productive
We’d watched an episode of the WW, eaten some pizza and some of the Moblerone (more on that later). I decided it was probably time for bed, what with the wailing and grizzling and lack of fine motor skills.
I was disappointed to see it was only 7.30.
I have been going to bed early and getting up early. I have made two blouses (collar, sleeves with gathers, buttons) and a skirt and have marked a lot of essays. I’ve been up since 7am. This is all new and scarily productive stuff. I have also developed a whole lot of mad tranky doo skills.
The pizza was good. Calzone, filled with panchetta, ricotta, tomato, garlic and yum.
need greens
I need a good nursery. We walked through Petersham today and saw two (one in Lewisham – but I’ve decided Petersham and Lewisham are the same place, even though one has Sweet Belem and the old theatre/roller skating rink and one… doesn’t), both were expensive, one was dodgy. It’s nice looking at nurseries when it’s been raining. There’s a Bunnings in Ashfield, but they suck. I need one that delivers for a reasonable fee (not $48 thanks Bunnings!).
This is what I need:
– some bales of straw/sugar can mulch for mulching. Probably two bales, maybe three. $27 is too much, thanks.
– some plants. Cheapish. I’m after about 4 small lavenders, 4 rosemarys, at least 3 natives (grevillea, banksia, protea combo), a passionfruit vine, a pretty scented ‘traditional’ vine (jasmine, etc) and some other stuff, including citrus trees for pots
– some pots. I want seedling punnets. If I buy some seedlings I’ll get some for free. But I don’t want seedlings, I have my own – they are now fighting and trying to climb out the cramped conditions in the home-made greenhouse tub (rectangular clear plastic tub – perfect mini-greenhouse for seed sprouting, less than $10 each at BigW or a junk shop. Better than a bought one, as they stack properly in our small bathroom/laundry situation). I will also need a couple of large pots for the citrus. I want some small pots for the new seedlings as well
– some potting mix. Decent stuff, probably two bags at least.
– I could also be tempted by some tools (secateurs, etc)
I could do with a feed store for the mulch, but where will I find one of those in inner Sydney?
If anyone knows a decent nursery, I’ll be your best friend forever. Must be within PT of Summer Hill.
the perfect hue
I found amazing ‘blackout’ curtains at the spotlight in Bondi for only $40 (75% off). They are stunningly effective, something which pleases a person who regularly goes to bed very late and needs to sleep during the day.
They are also the shade of a crushed-strawberry fruit drink.
I also have a pink chenille bedspread (also courtesy of spotlight, only $20, the colour of strawberry milkshakes, deliciously fuzzy and nice).
Over the bed I have hung a small square quilt that I made from remnants left after making three different dresses. These dresses were maroon needle cord, plum shot-silk-looking cotton and a complicated pink rose pattern.
The Squeeze declared that the room now looks like the inside of ripe fruit.
organic farming in difficult places
Read this fascinating blog about organic farming in Kiberia – remaking garbage dumps into gardens (follow the links to the ‘Kiberia slum’ especially).
Then read this awesome article about keyhole gardens or make a freakin’ neat bag garden with this little chick from Uganda:
Or you can make you own keyhole garden (via Send a Cow).
I’m getting into this action at the moment as we have a decent garden which I’m planning to build up with some herbs, some natives and possibly some veggies (though, realistically, herbs + a couple of citrus trees will fare better with us). Our landlord is a bit particular about the house, though, so I have to give a plan of where I want it/what I want to plant to the real estate agent. I am still deciding (that’s the best bit, really), so I’m delaying. Meanwhile there’re a zillion seeds germinating (hopefully!) in our bathroom, and we’ve put in a compost bin – without permission!
There are two flats in this house (a front and a back one), and we only have two bins between us (one recycling, one general waste – still no freakin’ green waste bin!), so we need to keep our waste to a minimum. We find that with composting and generally avoiding massively packaged food (which we should all do anyway – nasty sugar, salt, artificial shit – don’t buy that prepackaged pasta sauce – make your own! Don’t buy skanky jarred sauces – make your own! They taste better and they’re much better for you), we don’t produce much garbage generally. Between the two flats we’re not filling our bins each week anyway.
I’d really like to get to a market or even a nursery to buy some plants, but we don’t have a car, so it’s going to be a challenge getting the mofos home. But we’ve hoiked heaps of shit home in our backpacks before, so we’re not afraid. I’d also like a few bales of straw to mulch the garden beds, but that might be even more ambitious. Frankly, I’m thinking about getting into growing my own mulch – cheaper, easier. There are a few seed options, but I want to think about it carefully first.
Any how, here’s my seed/plant list (btw, I buy all my seeds from eden seeds – gotta love those hippies with their 24 hour turnaround:
Plants:
passionfruit vine: fast growing, good screening plant, lovely flowers, great fruit (and I want to try a variety that likes these warmer climes)
lemon tree (pot or ground, but probably pot)
kaffir lime tree (same)
lime tree (same)
Some native action:
I’m thinking small trees (our garden is sloped and I want to screen the front rooms from the (busy) road – probably banksia, grevillea, etc. I’d like to use stuff indigenous to this area, though, so I’ll have to do some research. I’d also like to add in some smaller plants – grasses and things that smaller birds like.
So we’re looking at about 4 small trees (I’m thinking 5m max), some shrubs (4 maybe) and some grasses (as many tubes as I can afford, in as many types as I can find). All low-water ones. I’m also keen for some sort of vine (a climber not a sucker) to twine up the front steps. There are a couple of natives I quite like, but I’m considering something ‘traditional’ and quite strongly scented, as it’s a ‘federation’ type house, and really needs a ‘traditional’ element, even if I do go nuts with the natives.
The other week we were at the Ashfield shopping centre (checkin’ out the new hood), and the council had a stall where they were giving away ‘free trees’. Your average punter is never hugely interested in these – they think they’re being sold something. But I’ve seen council stooges doing this before, and I have a scam: I make them give me as many as I can before they start to balk. So we scored 3 or 4 tiny tubes of anonymous natives. I have planted them in the garden, discovering the dirt is gorgeous.
Any how, I’d put the natives in the front part of the garden, and the herbs and veggies up the side. The side is quite sloped, which is nice – good drainage. I’m considering some sort of decorative mass-planting approach: eg using a few lemon grass plants as a feature, a few rosemary plants as a low hedge up the path, lavender under the clothes line (smells good on the laundry!), some masses of parsley (I’m really fond of parsley as an ornamental – it’s so green and fiesty, and comes in a few useful varieties. I also use it a lot in cooking), and of course a heap of oregano, basil, mint, marjoram. This time I’m going to take care with different species of mint and with the oregano/marjoram – those fuckers are incestuous and you end up with a general mass of ‘plant’. I’d also like a couple of chilli plants.
I am a little bit interested in growing some ginger – it could be warm enough here. They have a whole big garden bed of native ginger at the university, so I’m going to casually hack out a heap of shoots one afternoon and take them home to pot (I’m wary of putting it into the ground as it can go nuts). I am going to brazen my way out of any challenges: “it’s ok, I’m staff, this is for a class on indigenous food, nothing to see here.”
Seeds I’ve planted in the home made greenhouse (just get a plastic tub from Big W, and fill it with the little seedling planter things – punch a few holes in the tub, but tape them over when you don’t want moisture getting out):
marjoram
parsley (flat Italian)
sweet basil
bush or European basil
Thai basil
lemon grass
some lavender cuttings
garlic chives
… and something else.
I don’t actually have much hope for my seeds, as I’ve gotten really slack and useless with germinating seeds (not like in the olden days), but still. Seeds are best, as you get nice, tough plants, and it’s about $2 for a pack of seeds that’ll make a zillion plants, as opposed to $5 for a pot of a couple of pathetic young plant that’ve been abused and force-grown in scary mass greenhouse situations. But I think I’m going to need to go to the nursery for some stuff.
Incidentally, we haven’t actually broken ground on the garden beds. Why not, when spring is so obviously upon us (and my, it’s nice being back in the subtropics, where there’re proper ‘wet’ and ‘dry’ seasons, not this bullshit ‘European’ type seasonal arrangement)? Well, partly because I’m trying to figure my way through some sort of raised bed arrangement – it’s always a good option. I’ve been on the lookout for railway sleepers (less ambitious than you might think – we’re near a railway yard – more ambitious than people without cars should be, perhaps), old bricks, etc. I’m wondering if I’m hardcore enough to flog bricks from building sites – I’ve seen a few lying about. I know it’s wrong, but well, I just don’t care. My main concern is not getting caught. As I did today on the bus with my ‘student’ bus ticket. Damn.*
Have I mentioned that I now work three jobs?
1. working at the lovely bookshop.
2. DJing
3. teaching stoods at the Big Rich G8 Uni
I like all of them, but teaching is currently no.3, because I’m not sure academia is for me any more. Working at the bookshop is no.1, mostly because there are a lot of books there, the people I work with are lovely, and … well, there are BOOKS there. It’s not a chain store.
DJing is second, because I get to play music that I like. That’s great. This job pays crapperly, but teaching has the worst hours and most exploitative working conditions.
Teaching is interesting when it’s going well, but I’m not enjoying the broader institutional structures. I’m having trouble adjusting to a G8.
Also, I am thinking of becoming a professional explorer (kind of like this, but more with the arse kicking), because I am good at reading maps and walking. I think I’ll make The Squeeze be my Tenzing Norgay, because he is both strong and brave. He is also aesthetically pleasing, which I think will help when we are somewhere particularly inhospitable. Like North Sydney. Having conquered all of Paramatta Road from Summer Hill to Glebe, our next expedition will be to either the Glebe Markets or the Burwood Markets. We will need to employ pack ponies, I think.
*the stooge at the campus newsagent gave me the wrong ticket and I only noticed once I was on the bus. Then I just kept throwing them craps til the 5-0 busted me today. I didn’t cry, but I did try the ‘poor tourist’ card. The man was very nice, but also very strict. But it was the most hardcore bust I’ve ever been in – I’m surprised no one was gunned down by The Man. About 20 cops/traffic gumbies stood in the road (in the CBD!) and waved down the buses, then boarded and did a spot ticket/pass search. Any dodgy action, and we were off the bus, onto the curb. Then the bus was waved on, and we were left there on the side of the road with millions of The Man. But I didn’t cry. I considered it as a scam, but changed tack. Mostly I was worried I’d be late for my horrid 9am start. But I got there in time, escaping with a $100 fine. Dumbly, I failed to give an inaccurate address – I could’ve gotten away with it as my ID was all Victorian. But I don’t think I’m hardcore enough for that shit. So I took my fine like a badass and got on the next bus they waved down and strip searched.
round up
Enough of the random posts. Just join them all together and make one long stream of consciousness post.
Right now my stomach is feeling unsure. It began feeling unsure yesterday after I had chicken salad from the joint in Summer Hill. I wouldn’t have eaten there if it hadn’t been 4pm and I hadn’t forgotten to have lunch. I’d also walked to the hardware store (again – I freakin’ love that place) and then round the long way to the shops, mostly so I could look at the flour mill that’s up for redevelopment. I am fascinated by the fact that there’s a giant flour mill just down the street, and that it’s joined to another flour mill in Dulwich Hill by a special-duty train line. That one’s been made into flats, though. But I’m still really interested in it. It seems I’m not the only one into flour mills. There’s always someone leaning over the railing on the bridge over the railway, staring at the giant white flour mill (the one in Summer Hill). It’s a pretty good view – a long view, from a height. And it’s so freakin’ big. And you just know that the people having a stare are thinking about what they’d do with the site if they owned it. I don’t know why they’re bothering – it belongs to a gang of crows who’ve been terrorising the pigeons in that neck of the woods, and they’re not likely to cede it to a bunch of no-winged two-leggers who’d like a little light industrial inner-city living.
So yeah, my stomach feels a bit odd. I can’t decide if it’s dodgy chicken salad or anxiety. It could quite possibly be low level anxiety. This is the first day I’ve had to myself in the new house with no real jobs to do. I guess I need to go up to Ashfield to get groceries (we have none). I’d really like to get into the city to a) go to see some Art, and (more importantly), b) find that tapestry speciality place. But I’m apparently crippled by… that thing that makes it difficult to leave the house. I think I might chalk all this up to hormones, as I’ve actually been feeling quite wonderful ever since we got here. I really like traveling and I love being in a new city. I like all the walking. Plus Sydney’s fabulous weather is making me feel so good. I hadn’t realised just how draining Melbourne’s grey skies and nasty cold were until we left. I am remembering how nice it is to live in a warmer climate. But I’m not so struck on the increased humidity – I am also remembering its effects on my allergies.
It’s not so much that I’ve been shouting at innocent blokes, but more that I’ve been trying to rub my nose off my face and had trouble concentrating. It could be PMS, but I actually am pretty sure it’s allergies screwing with my mood. I’m trying not to take antihistamines as I seem to be on them every single day, but it’s not really making me feel nice.
I’m also at home because I’m waiting for tradesmen #62 000. Actually, it’s more like tradesman #9. Really. I am liking living in a house where the owner actually fixes things. The things we’ve needed fixed have been fairly inconsequential… well, except for the River of Effluent… but they’ve been fixed immediately.
1. windows painted shut? fixed (Charlie, from Greece – my favourite)
2. fence built? done (whatsit from Malta – initially my least favourite, but later one of my top 5)
3. forgotten bathtub spout? done (young fulla who’s name I can’t remember. ok)
4. garage door doesn’t close? not quite fixed, but at least a couple of blokes came to look at it (one of whom was Mal, whose parents were from Italy).
5. garage door still not closing? still not fixed (another bloke who failed to return and give me his life story, though he did provide a few interesting tips on the tensile strength of various metals).
6. sound proofing? quotes done (including…. can’t remember his name either. But he was Greek by descent and he lives in the outer suburbs but works in Marrickville. He recommends the cakes in Leichardt)
7 and 8. River of Effluent? dammed. (“Maria! Send tradesmen, please! The garden is full of effluent!” 2 young fullas of skip descent, up to their knees in human waste, giving our drains a good routing. White neighbour-cat carefully discouraged from helping)
9. Today it’s another sound proofing guy. Apparently the owner is going ahead with it (which is wonderful). He was supposed to be here between 9.30 and 10, but it’s 10.39 now. He and the garage door guy have failed to return.
Part of me is worried about all this tradesman action. I don’t want to use up all my credit now when I’ll certainly need it in the future… or will I? We have obviously moved up a rental bracket, to that wondrous place where wiring isn’t illegal and life-endangering (we have a trip switch! No plug points have caught fire! We have had electricity for at least three weeks!) and where plumbing is generally sound, barring the usual hiccups of a house that’s over 100 and recently had new pipes installed. No water mains have burst, filling our veggie patches with boiling water. No windows have broken, letting in arctic winds. And the stove works wonderfully. There are no mice (knock on wood), but I have seen one large cockroach in the house. I remembered why I actually wear thongs. After I dealt with it The Squeeze proceeded to sing ‘la cocka roacha!, la cocka roacha!’ around the house for about five minutes in a Tom Waits voice. It was entertaining, but perhaps too entertaining so close to bed time – it was difficult to sleep with the thought of Tom Waits serenading me in a Mexican cantina.
So I’m wondering if we’re tempting fate with all this tradesmen action.
This hasn’t stopped me asking if it’s ok to dig up the garden and plant zillions of herbs. Ordinarily I’d just do it, but the landlord seems pretty house-proud, so the rules are different. Our back neighbour (who lives in the back part of this federation home) is a chef, so he’s also quite keen on a herb garden/veggie patch. He is now My Friend, partly because I am still in post-move aggressive friendliness mode and will not allow otherwise. He is also the owner of aforementioned friendly white cat (Alby).
Alby is convinced he actually lives in our part of the house as well, and follows me around all day. He divides his time between sleeping in front of the front door in the sun, trying to climb into my laundry basket, romancing me with quite lovely accapella and playing in Rivers of Effluent. I am mightily allergic to cats, so there’s no physical contact, a lot of “No! Don’t go in there! Get out of there!” This has, of course, made me both the most interesting and the most appealing part of our neighbourhood.
The other day Alby was joined by Fluffy Tailed Black Cat from round the corner, and they both proceeded to play in the mulch and attempt domestic incursions. Alby failed (I think he’s a bit dumb – he’s very pretty, being white with pale blue eyes and a pink nose – but he’s not so smart. He’s also quite young), but FTBC had a little more luck. I was making the bed when a pair of large black ears was followed by a goofy black face over the other side of the bed. As I picked him up (physical contact! Aaaargh!) he let out a sort of ‘mrprrft’ purr-burp and kept up the chainsaw action as I clamped him under the armpits and hefted him outside.
I have also seen a giant orange and white tom with a mangled up face. Both Alby and I gave him a deal of distance as he marked out the new trees as his territory. We were both willing to concede him sovereignty.
On other fronts, I am working at Gleebooks doing functions (thanks Glen!). I like it a LOT. I was too late for sessional teaching this semester, but have lined up some contacts for next year. I have already DJed one set here in Sydney and am set for a blues set this Sunday. It seems there aren’t too many DJs here, which is a shame. But I’m really enjoying dancing, so I’m not sure I’m ready to DJ a whole lot. I will set limits.
Last weekend we went to Canberra for Canberrang, the Canberra lindy exchange. I bought a Tshirt and DJed one set. We stayed with an old school friend of mine and only attended two night’s worth. I think I prefer shorter events – Fri, Sat, Sun nights max. Any more is kind of too much. We went on the bus and it wasn’t too bad. It was also very cheap. On the way back it snowed and snowed and snowed and snowed. It was like Europe. With eucalypts and kangaroos. We had a good time, over all.
We have quite a few friends here in Sydney, and have already had interstate visitors. Next week we get more. And the next week The Squeeze’s matriarch arrives, so we will get our tourist on, big time. Which I’m looking forward to. I feel like the OPERA HOUSE is out there doing fun things without me every day. Then we have people coming up for SLX in September. Then my mother in October (perhaps). Then we’re down in November for MLX. Then it’s christmas, which we may spend in Melbourne, but we aren’t sure. So it’s all systems go. Sydney is apparently one of those cities people really like to visit. Partly because it rocks – there’s just so much to do. And also because the weather is nice. Which is where it pwns Melbourne.
I like Sydney, but I am a bit sad that there are so few fabric shops. I have seen two in Marrickville, and I have been given the sweet lowdown by a dress making Hollywood lindy hopper, and will get on into the city (Haymarket) to find more. Then there’s Cabramatta, but that’s miles away. At any rate, none are a short bike ride away, so it seems I will have to find new hobbies. Or rediscover old ones. I have also found a yoga studio quite near by, but it is some sort of arty made up bullshit yoga, and not straight out iyengar. I need to get on that ASAP as I miss yoga already. Also, I haven’t ridden my bike once. This means that I’m getting more exercise, but I am missing my bike. Poor blacky, stuck in the shed all day, bored and lonely. The Squeeze has been riding to work in the city and comes home with stories about having his arse kicked by the hills and making friends with other bike riders. This city is disturbingly friendly. Everyone seems so delighted that we’ve left Melbourne for Sydney – there’re lots of “How do you like it?”s and chats with strangers about cake. There are fewer conversations about the weather, but I suppose that’s because it’s so nice here there’s really nothing to say beyond “pwoar – another freakin’ beautiful day, hey?”
Alright, that’s enough blathering. I have to go…. well, not do anything, really, but I might as well think about doing something other than making internet. You know the rules: get out of bed, change out of your pajamas (or pa-yamas! if you’re Tom Waits a la cantina), leave the internet alone after a couple of hours. It is, unsurprisingly, a beautiful day, and there’re fabric shops to stalk.