The darker the night the brighter the day.

We have attended 2 galleries that specialise in Aboriginal Art. It has been quite an initiation and revelation. We attended an opening of male aboriginal Art in a gallery in Coff's Harbour a few weeks back. The gallery is run by a British ex-pat millionaire, Steve Bush, whose passion is Aboriginal Art. The paintings are really not in the same language as Western Fine Art being more of a mapping and naming discipline as far as I can gather. I can only approach them from my fifties modernist roots and through those eyes they work as wonderful and daring abstract pics. At this first show I fell in love with a painting by Lilly Kelly Napangardi, one of the Utopian artists. Kathleen Petyarre would be another artist from that area whose work is well known and quite similar.

The art opening was deafeningly noisy and sported the 'beautiful people ' of Coff's Harbour. I was reminded of a photo I saw in an Australian art magazine of a Sydney opening. NOT ONE of the maybe 60 people in the picture was looking at an artwork. The same was true here. More poignant was that there was NOT ONE aboriginal person in the room. Is it now the role of those nations to make artworks for the white middle class?

We have been in OZ for 7 weeks and have seen 3 aboriginal people. 2 were obviously the worse for drink. One of these we talked to in a snooker hall and he was singing along with a heavy metal band on the jukebox "we shall not be defeated".

By most estimates the aboriginal people have lived here for 30 to 40 thousand years and some people say as long as 100 thousand years. Us white people have been here for a little over 200 years. We are walking around with the descendents of 'racial cleansers'.

We visited another aboriginal art gallery, The Mina Mina, at Brunswick Heads and talked to the gallerist who had worked in Alice for seven years and still sourced her stock from there. I invested in a medium sized piece by Kathleen Kemarre which is again in the Utopian style. Very excited and inspired by this. When you buy a work it is important to get authentication and in this case I not only get a CV but a photo of the artist holding the painting in question.

On Feb 5th we fly from Sydney to Alice and on the 6th drive to Ularu (Ayer's Rock) to spend a night there and see this wonder of the world and a sacred site of the indigenous people

Did Jesus eat chocolate?

Or the Buddha or the founder of Islam. This question has been taxing me. What concerns me most is why it should. Sure, tis one of the great joys of life. Should avatars enjoy the fruits of the Earth. If not why not?

What I am trying to get at is the literally deadly seriousness of some of these characters and especially their acolytes.

Now, as to Vegetarians. When meat eaters visit my house I never, or rarely, offer them meat. Yet, when I go out to dinner the host is usually only too solicitous to provide something vegetarian . Food for thought.

While on this line:
Alan Watts was asked why he was vegetarian and he replied "Because cows scream louder than carrots". His friend used to be vegetarian at home but would eat meat when dining out. He explained "The cow is dead but the hostess is still alive".

Breakfast Blessing

On the back of the breakfast menu at The Tin Dog guesthouse is a lovely invocation courtesy of the Australian humourist and cartoonist Michael Leunig:

"We rejoice and give thanks for earthworms, ladybirds and broody hens; for humans tending their gardens, talking to animals, cleaning their homes and singing to themselves; for the rising of the sap, the fragrance of growth, the invention of the wheelbarrow and the existence of the teapot, we give thanks".

Archives

Remember that you can read the previous month's posts by clicking on the month in question under ARCHIVES

Bangalow Bungalows

A pretty town close to Byron Bay, not so pretty in my book, is Bangalow. Here again we see the lovely colonial style 30s bungalows with wide decks and overhanging roofs. Mostly wood and tin built they are. Several upmarket shops to be found here. A great music shop and interior shop, a little Japanese shop with a friendly Ozzie proprietor and a Tibetan shop with the most gorgeous contemporary Tankas at suitable prices. The proprietor let it down a bit by putting out a vibe of "I've been there, you haven't" I thought. This contrasted to the Afghani shop where the owner narrated his love of the Afghani people and his travels there with a bodyguard.

Highlight of the week was meeting Camille, for such a short time admittedly, but looking well and seemingly content with Byron. Her and Darren have a lovely appartment near the beach . I can't wait to see her again in Auckland and make the trip to Tahiti and Marquesas with them.

Meanwhile we have returned to Bellingen where we have a week of quiet. I have started, very tentatively, to paint on a very small scale. It feels cosy to be home in our wooden chalet and listening to the torrential rain on the roof.

Thinking of all dear family and friends in Ireland. It is so good to get the odd text and snippet of news. If they were not there there is a strong case for living in this vast land.

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om

580 naked Federalistas against Bush

We drove North from Bellingen on a four hour trip towards Byron Bay and the little one-horse town of Federal. On the way we skirted the Clarence river, obviously a major transport artery of yesteryear. It is reminiscent of the Shannon and as wide at points. We passed sugar cane plantations and also banana groves. Again the whole place reminds me of Alabama although I've never been there y'all.

Our destination was the most gorgeous B+B in the world, no contest Look it up on the web: www.thetindog.com.au
The Tin Dog is run by Mark and Sue, ably assisted by Bella their smooth haired pointer. She is friendly but discreet and only reveals herself to you in increments that must be earned with trust (and toast). I'm talking about Bella.

The Tin Dog is set in tropical gardens and boasts four autonomous wooden chalet style rooms conjunct to the house but essentially private. Below the house is a large pool which was at 30 degrees when we were there. The gardens are full of palms, ferns, mature trees, a creek, and many flowering shrubs, a little Dargle in fact. The countryside around is made of rolling hills ornamented with lines of Macadamia trees and coffee plantations. The village of Federal, just a half a mile away, is composed of about 10 houses including a village shop and a first rate restaurant. Also a community hall where we attended a Tsunami Relief concert. The community were there in force, from babies to elderly couples. Nearly all were swaying to the various high quality local acts and bands. The hight light was an appearance by a nationally known musician who lives down the road. More on that in another post.

Oh Yes! Why 580 naked Federalistas you ask?
Our host Sue, a lovely friendly person who you feel you have known all your life and on top of that a cook without compare, was one of the 580 ladies of Federal who stripped to the buff (What is a buff, by the way?) and arranged thenselves on top of a hill in the shape of a circle with NO WAR spelt out in the middle. This was aerially photgraphed and produced as a postcard before the IRAQ war.

It is so strange. I have not met one person who voted for the war and Howard.
Don't move in those circles I suppose.

Bumper sticker in Bellingen : No hoWARard

Georgie's animal hot tubs

Not content to be wrapt in bandages from head to foot the gorgeous Georgie sees fit to have hot tubs as well. We have been schooled in to this preening behaviour by our Kiwi poodle and have to maintain the tradition.

Poodle Parlours etc, we await LA. Veterinary psychologists there too I believe.

To get back to hot tubs. I think Georgie has had her last nocturnal tub. At Koompartoo there is a kind of netted outdoor room a bit like a raspberry plantation. Within is a large tub, with underwater jets (I wont go there), which can be heated up and sat in whilst sipping glasses of wine and listening to the sound of the bush. The first visit she had was disturbed by scrambling sounds on the flimsy roof and we are not talking mouse scratches.
She then looked through the netting to see a ratty face with bulging eyes staring straight at her. She appeared back at our room at full tilt, not without trying to take a photo though. She is nothing if not brave. The culprits turned out to be possums.

Last night she had only settled into the tub again when she heard some swishing sound outside. She peered out to see a 2 metre long snake just 2 feet away from her. Back she came and night tubs are a thing of the past.

Speaking to our host Erika today I find out that the snake is 'Eduardo' and lives in her roof along with Geoffrey the goanna. He is apparently quite harmless and is one of the few non poisonous specimens. He is a diamond python about two metres long. She showed me his skin from last year that he had sloughed up on the roof.

There are no snakes in Ireland as St Patrick got rid of them all. They went to New York and became cops , according to Brendan Behan

Lean Pet Mince

This is advertised in a Bellingen Butcher's shop.
What are the poor fat pets to do?

A few more snippets from the first Bellingen visit:

At the fair that I described we met a couple making and selling leather shoes and thongs (remember we are talking footwear, not the kind that Monica snapped at Bill). In conversation we found out that they had stayed at Castle Leslie, Glasslough, the home of the famous Leslie family. Anyone remember Leonie who broke the mirror in my studio at Dargle? Or Sir Shane who gave a lecture on ghosts at the College of Surgeons in the sixties?

We attended 2 gigs in The Cool Creek Cafe, a kind of Old Bakery style joint (Castletownbere). Live music and good food and NO TALKING DURING PERFORMANCE. What lucky musicians, we never had that privelege. The first gig was by a singer sonwriter most memorable for her Godess outfit, black and red and streeling allover the place. She started affairs by performing an American Indian ritual of summoning the elemental 4 directions in a most annoying and syrupy fashion, aided by her partner rattling a snare drum. Sickening. Then she performed a passable rendition of 'La Vie en Rose', with a break for forgotten words (French not being her first language). Fair play to her she managed that glitch with professional grace. But the audience, apart from ourselves, were entranced. Gasps. Not a dry seat in the house. I wrapped myself on the knuckles for being such a musical snob. (He who lives in glass houses etc).

The second gig was elevating and inspiring; a Kora player from The Gambia accompanied by an Australian djembe player and a Gambian lady dancer. As you can imagine the rythms were irresistable and Jali Bubu's voice has a bluesy timeless story to tell. We have the CD to recall it.

Another night we ventured towards the river at dusk to see the flying bats return to the trees, an impressive Bellingen sight apparently. Alas we went to the wrong trees and found instead an unconscious man lying on the grass with no shirt on. I failed to arouse him although there was some sign of life so drove to the police station and reported his state to a trooper who didnt seem overly interested but promised to intervene. We think we have spotted the victim since, walking down town. Drink or drugs no doubt. It's great to see young people enjoying themselves.

We had a visit from Katrina Paye and her boyfriend of 5 months which was great fun. The same feisty and humorous Katrina we knew from Kenmare; always outspoken and affectionate. Really felt at home. We will see her again this month.

Georgina braved a full body wrap at a place called 'Totally Wrapt in Earth'. It was a huge success and Georgie made a great time with the lady who runs it. From her we found somewhere to stay, "Woodsong", while Koompartoo was unavailable.

Woy Woy

Woy Woy is a popular retirement spot here in OZ. Spike Milligan, whose Mum lived there, referred to it as "the only above-ground cemetery in the world".

Woy Woy is a translation from Aboriginal language and means 'deep water'. This was a constant source of amusement to Spike . "Which Woy means deep and which Woy means water?" he'd ask.

Awake among the Sleeping

This is a new book by a Byron Bay resident that charts the fictional journey of a man through a cult, then becoming a leader and then seeing right through the trap. It is very funny, poignant and intelligent on the subject. Recomended reading for followers of such cliques, even followers of Prem Pal Singh Rawat nee Maharaj Ji.

The monthly fair at Bellingen was largely held as a fundraiser for tsunamai relief. It was held on what was a large oval patch of land surrounded by mature trees. We could have been at an English garden fete, apart from the 30 degree heat. Endless stalls groaned under new age medicaments, fruit, bric a brac, clothes fit for Godesses (a lot of Godesses around here) and tents where you could have your fortune read or your aura massaged (or your back). On the main stage a large jazz band serenaded us with standards. The great thing was that the musicians ranged from about 10 to 80 in years.

On a CD stall we found a CD by the 3 Irish Tenors with a picture of Ballydonegan Strand, Allihies on the cover!

Bellingen has many beautiful shops and coffee houses. One of these also sells crafts and at the entrance it has an enterprising sign that reads "Your husband just rang and said you can buy what you want".

Elsewhere I saw a sign that read "I saw my mother-in-law today. Thank God she didn't see me".

Segregated even at The Last Trump.

Passing back through Bellingen Hinterland we stopped at the posh end of town, well the only end where I saw a Porche 911. Here you can find the graveyard; it merited a few photographs. Georgie and I had fun snapping the roadsigns, I kid you not, which pointed to different areas of the graveyard. "Methodist", "Roman Catholic", "Church of England". None for "Sinners", "Pagans", "Atheists", "Agnostics" or "Buddhists (plenty in Bellingen I think)", "Muslims" etc.

Are we to be seperated forever by what J. Krishnamurti once called 'The frozen thoughts of man'?

Yes and no, of course.

Come to think of it some roadsigns in the cemetery pointing to the plots of 'Homeopaths', 'Doctors', 'Herbalists', 'Acupuncturists', 'Osteopaths' etc could be informative.

Hippocrates is reputed to have said that many are buried beneath the earth that has the herbs that could have saved them growing on top.

As in many places I think there was a huge local effort to raise money for the Tsunami victims. This sort of thing brings hope that we can lay aside regional differences and see the bigger picture. Yet I see in today's paper that Mr Bush talks of bringing 'freedom' to the world and not ruling out the use of force in doing so. Someone should give that man a massage or some nougat.

More Bellingen delights to follow:

The Promised Land

Yes, there is a Promised Land. It is about 12 kilometres outside Bellingen near a place called Glennifer. There is a ringroad, dirtrack, through it and from that you can look out on a land of milk and honey, somewhat Swiss, somewhat English. The lowlands are comprised of large verdant pastures inhabited by healthy looking stock and horses. Large mature trees are scattered throughout this vista, parkland style. We could be looking at a great English Estate. Nestling, as all literary houses do, in this park are clapboard style bungalow houses with large overhanging roofs, tin, and beneath them wooden balconies/decks. Not a soul to be seen. We have seen very few people at large in the countryside or outside houses. What are they all doing? The birds seem to have the place to themselves. And what birds! Parrots, Rosellas, Black Cockatoos, Australian Magpies, what looked like Peewits and many many little creatures I have never seen or heard

The backdrop to all this lushness are substantial mountains thickly wooded with rainforest which is thousands of years old with a few great waterfalls within. As we circled on the loop the sun was setting and sending out heavenly rays as seen in end of the world Victorian paintings of John Martin and others. At times we passed through green tunnels of trees and crossed the Never Never Creek which is a lazy upper Dargle like river concealed in the overgrowth.

So that's one aspect of Bellingen. A vision.

Hump de Birdy

New single for 2005 starring John 'The Bird' Eagle. To be proceeded by a poster and graffiti campaign of 'Ban Hump de Birdy'. Samples of rainforest birds are being recorded as we speak. The laughing Kookaburra is the most likely soloist. (he's basically a fluffy kingfisher).

Welcome back dear reader and thanks for your patience. These travellers have been so busy that time to report has been thin.

They visited their close relatives the Moncktons in North Sydney and were regally entertained. The highlight for junior poodles was the trip to the beach where Home and Away is recorded.

Camille parted company with us to meet Darren and hang out for a few weeks before we join forces in NZ for the trip to Tahiti and The Marquesas, (The where? Out with the Atlas and look in the middle of the Pacific Ocean).

Coconut Tail Lynch and self set out on the long road North, The Pacific Coast Highway, and drove for hours through Eucalypt forests. It came time for nosebag and we made an injudicious detour to Newcastle that must have cost at least 2 hours. We were lost in an urban suburban nowhere land that could have been any where on the industrial worldscape. To cap it we could not find a single cafe open to serve grub at 4.30 in the afternoon. Australia closes early; most streets are deserted after about 9.00 p.m. Poodles, as we know, are only coming alive at that hour.

At little one-horse town came to our rescue after Newcastle. It was/is straight out of a movie set in the deep American South as are many of the inland towns further North are. We found the locals friendly, community minded and happy to serve egg and chips on paper plates.

Late in the evening after about 8 hours driving we arrived in Bellingen NSW, and our destination Koompartoo, which being translated means 'new beginnings'. Most appropriate. Here we have a Thai-style chalet on stilts on the edge of the rainforest. Here we met the Goanna, in fact a 'lace monitor', some spiders of dubious intent, some mosquitos of murderous intent and the charming owners. Here we stayed for several days before going North again. We stay there again shortly though.

For a report on Bellingen read above.

Angel by day, Devil by night

Bumper sticker in Bellingen.

Georgie and I had a wonderful day out to the Hawkesbery River to visit Lindsay and Sue Johnson, before leaving Sydney on the road North. One of the best days yet it was. We left Central Station on a double decker train. From upstairs, where else, we watched the suburbs subside, most of them named after English towns as most places are over here apart from the numerous Irish names: Ballina, Crossmaglen, Avoca etc. Upstairs in a train affords a better view and a much quieter passage. We glid along soundlessly. Soon the Eucalypt forests took over, impressive in their subtle colour variations and density. There are over 700 species of Eucalyptus in OZ . We descended to a station by a wide river, The Hawkesbery, where Lindsay awaited us with a little speedcruiser. It's a junior version of what I call 'the dishwasher' breed of boat so espoused by the denizens of Porto Banus etc. I love wooden boats though they are probably a fright to maintain.

(This text will stop here while the poodle goes for his strawberry milkshake....more tomorrow dear reader (if there is one). Dont be shy to comment by the way, there is a button at the bottom of the texts that explains. Au revoir.......)

Back at the desk despite thunderous downpours here in Bellingen..........
Anyway, before the pink drink in the tall glass called, here we are in Lindsay's fast boat scudding across the Hawkesbery river under the main railway line heading North under the main Pacific Highway heading North, round the bend into choppier water. You can see a small island on the Left where delinquents reside in a camp of some sort .It looks like a wonderful place for anyone. We pull into a small settlement on river's edge. Wooden houses built from the twenties up to present day rather reminiscent of a Norwegian village. Here Lindsay and Sue have two properties. They are working on the one we visited, gutting it's interior and maybe extending to a second storey. it's wood and tin like it's neighbours and has a lovely pool. We lunched very favourably on salads, fruit and prawns cooked on the barbie along with some very suggestive looking vegetarian sausages. We splashed around in the pool and sat on the edges discussing Aussie life, Irish life, relationships, children and vocations not to mention the climate which is really irresistable. So rewarding to talk with these good people who have found a very comfortable niche and way of life. Mr Poodle was much impressed by their philosophy of child rearing and the fruits of such were well reported to us. Lindsay then took him for a spin up river or was it down. This was a main artery for inland Australia in days gone by, a trading route. Very impressive sandstone cliffs thickly wooded with the ubiquitous Eucalypt. I saw the source for many of the paintings seen the prvious day in the Museum of New South Wales in Sydney. The older more representational painters struck me the most; the pioneering explorer/artist types mirrored on Beara Peninsula by our hidden master there Danny Osborne. Meanwhile back at HQ Mrs Poodlem and Mrs Johnson had some deep tete-tetes which Georgie enjoyed immensely. Time to jump in the boat (the only means of access and egress from this spot) and head for harbour, train, Sydney and bed. A perfect day.

Animal Crackers

The Australian reptile authority apparently has three words of advice regarding snakes: LEAVE THEM ALONE. We are all more than glad to comply.

Yesterday we had two sightings of a most magnificent creature right in front of us; a dragon. He is a Goanna with strippy feet and neck (I think) and he probably lives in the garden at Coompartoo where we stay, going to make enquiries about him tonight. I think he is my soul brother. His tail is really about 4 feet long and in evening we saw him scaling a tall tree to glean the last bit of heat from the sun with which to toast his very long nose. He runs a bit like crocodile.There are other more esoteric vibrations to him that stray into the metaphysical and possibly aboriginal realms. For Mr Poodle he represents the opportunity to let go of past attachments and grief. A new page can be turned with the help of Iguana, who has been named Terry Pilkington.

Skipping ahead; we saw what we thought was our first Kangaroo on a high mountain dirt track that ran through the rain forest. We only saw his tail end disappearing and he seemed somewhat small for a kanga. We now think he may have been a Padermelon (Sp?). Will report further. Also on the bird life which is stunning and hilarious musically speaking.

Still a few days behind but will catch up, internet cafes willing.

NAQOYQATSI

Three very presentable poodles made their way to The Sydney Opera House to see the world premiere of 'Naqoyqatsi'. I have some fab pics taken at the site which I am still hoping to publish here. Back on went the uncomfortable shoes, the high heels, the floral Birkenstocks (Oh no it was the pink thongs, thongs has a different meaning in Australia by the way). Dresses and suits were due homage to this epochal performance. The house was full and wonderful to behold from within. Mostly concrete construction with hardwood trimmings and highly complicated gemetric forms. It should be acoustically good although I'm told that musicians find it not so. On the night though the sound was perfect and accurate.

'Naqoyqatsi' (a Hopi Indian word for 'life as war') is a film by Godfrey Reggio with music by Philip Glass. Performed this evening by Philip Glass and his ensemble, 11 souls. The star was undoubtedly the 'cello player Maya Beiser, a lyrical passionate performer who stands in for Yo Yo Ma who plays on the film version. The music was in the usual Glass arena of arpeggios , waves broken by lyrical phrases and amazing soundscapes underpinned by percusion(gongs etc) and zylephone. Also some backing track of a deep bass chanter. Guest musician was Mark Atkins, a didgeridoo player who blended in to the ensemble seamlessly. The content was moving almost to the point of tears, especially as the non verbal film portrayed the poignancy of our industrial military materialistic society on the face of the natural world. Thrown in were images of the iconic figures of this centuty such as Mandele, Marilyn Monroe, Einstein, and lamentably but correctly George Bush.There was also a quick run through of Art of the 20th century, images of key paintings bleeding into each other. Surveyed and wiped clean it seemed; an end of term report.

We emerged stunned into the barmy air of Sydney harbour and had refreshments on the quay, still about 20 degrees at eleven in the evening. One could quickly get used to the climate. On the other hand there are the ten most poisonous snakes in the world in Australia, spiders too and lacs (indian word) of mosquitos or birds in Gouldingese, hence bird cream and bird netting.

SMILE, ( it confuses people!).

Quotation from a Sydney T Shirt.

After the fireworks came the day off . Snoozing for senior poodles and make-up repairs for juniors. These activities were performed on the beach. Soon we were back up to speed and sitting in the back row of the cinema watching "Meet the Fockers", a sequel to "Meet the parents. Plenty of American cringe. Strawberry milkshakes.

Time to move out of Batsville and the Christ Place. We graduated to the Royal (ST George) Hotel in Randwick, a colonial buiding with wrought iron victorian balconies in the heart of a typically nondescript suburb. A bit like staying in Ballyfermot (apologies to those who live there). Georgina informs me that the 'T' is silent in Ballyfermot.

THE TOWEL INCIDENT: Hair colour is supremely important for worldwide travellers (especially for those who are lucky enough to have colour in their hair to start with, or hair at all for that matter). So the evening ritual of 'Hennaing' was performed in room 301 by Starfish (Camille) ably assisted by The Captain (Morgan). Unfortunately most of the colour went on to the white hotel towel. This led to a sharp note from management to the effect of a summary fine being imposed and a warning 'to please respect the high standard of hospitality provided at such a reasonable rate', (Reasonable my arse, we could have been staying at the Shelbourne at that price). Suitably chastened the 'hennaing' continued unabatted.

The 6th Jan dawns and the Captain has to return to NZ and a fate of work on a cruise ship . We are all left with a feeling of loss. So good to travel with someone who is always in an equitable state of mind and understands the importance of presentation, not to mention strawberry milkshakes. But NAQOYQATSI lies ahead.

Fat boy always wins at see-saw

Come New Year's Eve the team can be found heading into Sydney harbour along with literally one million other folk. Dilly and Seamus stayed at home to keep the 'Flying Bat' at bay. We watched the feativities from the balcony of Keith and Ann Lane's new house on Mc Mahon point. It overlloks the famous bridge. The best seats in Sydney to watch the best firework display I've ever seen. The boats in the harbour were all lit up, also the Lunar Park funfair across the water, all the buildings and most of the people. A smallish party was in swing at Ann's. Delicious food (glorious new spuds and salmon and many other delights. Perkins himself loves the deserts). Here we met Lindsay and Sue Johnson, Garnet and his young daughter and several others of the Irish diaspora. A lady handing around nibblets sported reindeer horns worn tiara style. At midnight the bridge erupted with fountains of light, rockets, explosions and streams of golden glittery light falling down into the harbour. From the Opera house a laser beam lit a giant globe that slowly rose to the top of the bridge, turning colour as it travelled.

Morgan skilfully sniffed out the champagne and the guests who were interested in fashion. We have learnt a lot from him on the preening front and realise that we are underdoing it by about an hour a day. He is always immaculately presented and the ironed white shirt is to be seen at breakfast at best advantage against the sugar pink of the Strawberry Milkshake (fast becoming a breakfast favourite with some of the party). He has now returned to NZ and is much missed by all three generations of Poodle. There is the promise of a party though in Auckland on 18th Feb.

The evening was rouded off by a hideous trek home through the streets of Sydney along with a bucketful of drunken revellers all looking for the same non existent taxis and buses. It took us about 3 hours to find our way back. Vanity took it's toll. Camille was barefoot after about a mile, high heels were lacerating . Mrs Poodlem's sandals were cutting her feet and she hobbled. My new Birkenstocks were raising an open sore and worst of all was Morgan who returned to the Christian Centre like a true pilgrim with bleeding feet. The wages of sin is sore feet. That said we all behaved exemplarily but were never so glad to be home and unhurt by the rowdy British lout who harangued our bus as we shot thru the suburbs. He brandished a light sword which he suggestively slung below the belt and was egged on by an admiring girlfriend whom I wanted to throttle. we had the last laugh though. When he alighted from the bus he turned to us all and made a 'phallic gesture' by way of goodbye at which point the sword fell off.

Poodle's Progress

John Bunyan must be turning in his grave to hear that Poodles also go on journeys of discovery. Nonetheless the 7 members of the family (3 stuffed) arrived safely in Sydney on 30th December to await the New Year. We had booked accomodation before leaving and it was thin on the ground. Mr and Mrs Poodlem with Dilly, four legs, Brendan ,two legs and Perkins two to three legs depending how you look at it were assigned the ESRON MOTEL in Randwick above Coogee Beach. This 50s American B movie style joint is run with a rod of iron 24hrs a day by 'The Bat' or 'The Flying Fox' to be more accurate. We saw some of her comades in the trees in the Botanic Gardens in Sydney. They hang upside down from the top of trees and sponataneously launch themselves into thin air to land on a nearby one with deadly accuracy and surprise. Our Bat had the same accuracy and sense of purpose. She only lacked the jeweled batwinged glasses of certain vintage American matrons. Goergina felt the sting of her tongue for talking into a mobile phone in the corridor, a fairly harmless occupation in our book.

The Hotel's name is an anagram of SNORE ( and NORSE).

Camille and Morgan had been assigned to a place reccomended by the Flying Fox. She portrayed it as 'clean'. It is called 'The Centre' and turned out to be a Christian meditation centre
policed 24hrs by a phantom of the Opera without a trace of humour. Why does religion bring out the poe-faced in droves? Our two goodie goodies went meekly to their rooms and I think exploded in tears of laughter there. They dared not utter a word over breakfast in the face of the other guests, which of course was served from 7am onwards. John Bunyan would have been proud.

We met for a second breakfast, a Full Australian. We having been having wonderful breakfasts here. Eggs, Benedict, Florentine, any style, with lashings of avocado, spinach and tomatoes. Bircher Benner muesli and Soy cappochinos. You name it they have it. Australian cuisine is copious and transcontinental, also healthy in the main.

So much for our first day back in Sydney.

P.S. I am studying diligently on all your behalfs my friends. So much so that I invested in a book called "Irritation, the Destructive Fire ", visited the master of Bondi beach who you met in a previous posting and from whom I have gained many quotes for later and dicovered the Zen of Life Direction :
The West says, 'understand and transform yourself.'
The East whispers, 'know and transcend the self.'
The North and South are staying very quiet.

Melbourne for Christmas

So..........., after some nasty curfuffledom at Sydney airport the rather stressed Poodles arrived at Melbourne Airport to be met by old pal Rob Hall and his Missus, Lauris Pandolfini (she is Irish, one of the Ballybrack Pandolinis no doubt). Last saw Rob about 300 years ago in Kenmare, Co Kerry where he lived, painted and kept horses. As ye can imagine there was much catching up and going back to be done. Mrs Poodlem (recent spelling mistake that is pleasantly Portugese) was valiant in taking in these reminiscences and even enjoyed them. She was born the year Rob came to Ireland. A good year.

Impressions of the Melbourne we saw: More European than Sydney (more San Fran), spacious leafy seaside suburbs of Albert Park crammed with delicious multiethnic cafes and Chi Chi shops FULL of stuffed toys... enticing, a leisurely relaxed air of 'fine living'.... enticing, quaint antique trams with shrill bells pacing the streets at regular intervals make transport easy (more of that)... easy, and seaside within spitting distance.....refreshing. This last observation leads to two low/highlights: Christmas day Camille achieves sunburn on the beach despite copious screen applications / Perkins meets 2 paramedics in blue uniform picnicing on duty with Santa hats atop (30 degrees Celsius). He politely asks for a photo opportunity and is allowed access as long as 'we are not press'. First time in my life I have been mistaken for a news hound.

Speaking of hounds Rob has the most intelligent and enthusiastic collie name of Danny who guards his Master's country estate and his Missus'sTown house. We leave him with a heavy heart. His master doesn't know that he hopped up on the bed to say 'goodbye mates' .

Did a lap of Albert Park. Yes, THAT Albert Park where the pivotal figures of our time yearly demonstrate their Godlike prowess and pollute the atmosphere with racefuel and the scream of 19,000 rpm racing engines.

My hosts actually leave the city for that weekend. The course looks tame at the moment but it takes six weeks to turn it into a racedrome and six weeks to restore.

Rob took us to Springhill his country station, an hour's drive from the city. It reminded me so much of his house in Gortamullen, Co Kerry. Bohemian with all mod cons and the inimitable taste of a serious working artist.We were lucky to go to Daylesford the next day and see his current show. The work reflects the landscape around Springhill. Basic landsape formats with very subtle renditions of the myriad greens with hidden red of the Eucalypt stands and the meadows. He has a piercing understanding of greens and a sense of place is very strong: slow burn pics with integrity. OK I'll stick to painting rather than arttwaddle.

We were looked after so well by Rob and Lauris and time flew. I think they may have been a bit shocked at first by the emphasis on a certain stuffed monkey but they got o a point where they were willing associates in having his photo taken at the movies.

A highlight was a visit to the Munch exhibition in Melbourne. The paintings spanned his life and were SUPERBLY hung. It was a very emotional show portraying the rather tragic life he led. He must have been one of the first artists to portray psychological pain and it's attendent emotional causes. The paintings of jealousy could reduce you to tears and of course thre was a woodcut of one of the iconic 'scream' paintings. His technique was beguiling in it's sometimes watercolour thinness in the oils along with bravura impastos (Steady!)

We met Rob's Daughter Chloe who played us her soon- to- be released 2nd album. I was completely bowled over by it and think it is of international standing. Want to help it on it's way if poss. So wonderful to see her again, a national treasure without doubt. Also spoke to her Mum, Tricia, on the last day which was a complete delight.

All in all a great visit.

Camille and Morgan stayed in the younger area of town, St Kilda, and we had loads of fun with them too; shopping, fashion, Lunar Park, cinema of course and general banter.

So ,you see, there is something to be said for being an unashamed tourist and a superficial one at that. This is time out to have time in in.

Alas, even as i write, there is only one major thought on the mind and most of the world is thinking it.

Global Matters.

In some ways all this wandering around the world with stuffed toys and enjoying the fruits of the earth has been rendered hollow. Georgina and I have been so saddened, almost to tears, by the tsunami destruction more especially as we were in one of the most devastated areas just two weeks before the tragedy. It is hard to forget the Thai people who worked there, they would persuade one to turn Buddhist because of their unaffected humour and giggles. I see the faces of the girls who flitted around the cottages in colourful sarongs always cheerful like so many exotic parrots. I wonder if they are still alive and cannot imagine any of that place surviving as it was all on beach level with no protection at all. We remember the boatman, Kit, who brought us out to an island off the bay for snorkelling in his longtailed motorboat. We swam off the side of the boat and he was along side like a protective dolphin. It can only be an enticement to think global and act local, to commit unprovoked acts of kindness as much as possible and Carpe Diem. Much more no doubt too, we are still in the stage of trying to come to terms with the import of such a thing.

Does it not make man made events of destruction even more despicable viz. what Blair and Bush have caused in Iraq?