Adelaide enters the web world

Now I know you all think I am daggy having my own blog but it is obviously in the blood. For those that don’t know Adelaide has decided that 'daddy’s does not have enough about the cows, school and other exciting things to do with her toys'. So she now has her own site:

http://careysadventure-adelaide.blogspot.com/

There is a link from my blog on the right hand side if you forget.

So if you want to know what she thinks of being dragged around the countryside by her Dad, the latest gossip on bratz or how her sisters are annoying her take a visit.

Notes from a small island

I was reading Bill Bryson's travel book called "Notes from a small Island" and came across a page on his refletions on Weymouth so thought I would share it:

"I liked Weymouth a good deal more than I'd expected to. It has 2 claims to fame. In 1348 it was the place where the Black Death was introduced into England and in 1789 it became the worlds first seaside resort when the tedious lunatic George III started a fashion for seaside bathing there. Today the town tries to maintain an air of Georgian elegance and generally nearly succeeds, though like most seaside resorts it had about it a whiff of terminal decline at least as far as tourism goes."

It is interesting his visit was in 1995 (over 10 years ago) and it is probably still a pausible reflection today. A few days ago I spent the morning walking along the beach. It had a lovely peaceful feel as early morning joggers passed, the birds rested on the calm water and the morning light shimered through the morning mist and onto the water. Despite Bryons description, I think it is a lovely town and probably the best place in England to spend 12 months.

IMPRESSION 3: Toff to Tuff

I have found that a good way to describe the types of people I have met is by the same classification as the newspapers here. Newspapers in the UK can roughly be split into three groups: the more serious papers (the broad sheets); the papers full of gossip (the tabloids); and the papers with tits or 'breasts' if that was a bit offesive to some (ie; the Sun).

You’ve got the classic upper class toff, refined and subtle in manner, perhaps a little superior and condescending in attitude. Thankfully not mant of them here in Weymouth.

Then there is the majority who conform loosely to the polite, upright and rather stiff stereotype. Beneath the exterior however there is a good sense of humour and a real willingness to help out.

But it is not all class or conformity – someone has to be buying the 3 million copies of the newspaper with 'size DD' being the BIG news story. There are a lot of ‘lads’ who are out for a loud, possibly violent time. They drink too much, druel over the trashy papers and get into fights over football results.

I thnik I am happy with the tabloids

more to come........

IMPRESSION 2: Polite

IMPRESSION 2: POLITE - "showing regard for others in manners, speech, behavior"

Not sure if it because we are 4 hours from the big smoke of London, but I was struck how polite everyone is here. With a population of over 60 million on an island not much bigger than the size of Tasmania I suppose it is a matter of survival.

I swear that the English are taught to apologize shortly after they are born - “Sorry mummy for putting you though 26 hours of hell in labour, I do consider it unfortunate and will not do it again”.

Even driving, as you arrive at the intersection with a wall of cars it only takes a minute before someone slows to a crawl and gives you a flash (with their lights that is) to say – ‘no problem sir please feel free to come in’. Most of the time in Sydney you would have to wait until peak hour finished before somone would let you in. Travelling along the narrow lanes there is the constant wave of the hand, raise of the finger, or if you are really local a knowing nod, as people pull over to allow you to pass.

But despite the politeness, they are also very distant to begin with. Don't expect a long conversation with someone you have just met. Conversations are short. 'Nice weather today' is the national introduction and greeting but you cant move off this topic until you have met the individual a further 25 times.

More to come........

IMPRESSION 1: Learning to speak English

Do the English speak English? Do all Britons walk with a bowler hat and an umbrella? Will they queue for no reason? Are there lots of Mr Beans? To help answer this I thought I would give you some of my impressions of the culture of the people I have met so far.

IMPRESSION 1:
On the first question of 'English' don’t confuse ‘the English’ with the spoken ‘English’. I am still yet to work out how a country with a language named after itself can manage to make it sound like a mixture between Spanish and a mouth full of food. There are so many language differences throughout the country in the form of different accents and different words. People in Yorkshire sound very different to people in Surrey; a Somerset accent is very different from a Kent accent; it's hard to believe that people from Birmingham are speaking the same language as those from Cornwall; and I haven’t even been north yet to Scotland. I sometimes wonder if this has evolved just so the football louts know who to have a fight with.

The accents obviously work both ways. People are still getting used to me saying G’Day and calling people ‘mate.’ I don’t think they understand the use of this one word. We all know there are various versions of that four letter word. There’s the cheery ‘mate!’, the questioning ‘mayte?’, the cautionary ‘mayeet?’, the belligerent ‘MATE! I am slowly getting used to the fact that 'G’day mate' is not the correct way to approach someone in the street.

You never know - next time we meet I may even be saying “Good morning chaps”.

More to come.....

Kingston Maurwood

Today we headed of to Kingston Maurwood - A lovely house built in 1717 and a garden full of little rooms for the kids to play and hide in. Spring is just here with carpets of white, red, yellow and purple wild flowers everywhere.

They also run a farm and it is lambing time so the kids had a great time. We were also lucky to see a new lamb being born - it was interesting explaining the process to the kids.

Another sunny day - the 10th in a row since Kathy arrived - but I dont think it is time to put the jacket away yet. They are predicting snow and freezing temperatures to return on monday as a big change comes through.

Finished the day at the pub with Kathy having her first real English ale. With Mothers Day tomorrow looks like I am in control of the kids for the day. I wonder if they like the pub???

A Path Somewhere

My sister, Chris, reminded me of the great show a while ago called 'A River Somewhere' and it made me think about my experience so far walking around the english countryside. A couple of weekends ago I went for a walk around Upway which is only 10 minutes from where we live. With a trusty map in hand I set out through paddocks and down narrow lanes with no real destination in mind.

These maps are amazing in their detail. They show farm buildings, sign posts, historical roman roads, small woodlands and even where Farmer Martin's cow is standing. Looking at the map I noticed the word 'Tumuli' all over the place. After a bit of reading I realised that a tumuli (singular tumulus, from the Latin word for mound or small hill for un-educated people like me) represented barrows, burial mounds, kurgans, middens or shell mounds. Theres tall ones, small ones, circular ones, long ones - all shapes and sizes and all part of an amazing history. The maps also have one very important thing - an image of a pint glass to represent the village pub - any walkers essential finish point.

Just like in 'A river somewhere' I was always thinking - what if I just walk over that next hill to that funny thing on the map with an X - I wonder what it could be? So on I would trudge until I got there. Then, looking at the map again - I would wonder - what is that triangular symbol marked 'old mill' over the next hill? So on I would trudge again.......

.............. Then again there is aways something over the next hill.

Coves to Cathedrals

The first weekend all together and amazingly sunny both days. I think Kathy must have brought the sunshine over as this has now been 5 days in a row of lovely early spring weather. So like any good ozi, on Saturday we decided to head to the beach. Well – a cove actually. Lulworth Cove is an amazing shell shaped inlet which provides a great shelter from the winds. The geology of the area is most unique with exposed twisted rock strata indicating the once violent forces which shaped this corner of England. The kids had a great time clambering over the rocks but it took them some convincing that it was too cold to swim.

Sunday and another lovely day (Kathy is beginning to not believe me that it was raining most of the time). This time a nice drive out to Salisbury, and a visit to the cathedral. The cathedral has the tallest church spire in the UK and the largest cloister in England, and was completed around 1280.

The chapter house also displays the best-preserved of the four surviving original copies of the Magna Carta, written in 1215. It was originally written because of disagreements between Pope Innocent III, King John and his English barons about the rights of the King but ultimately led to the rule of constitutional law today. I continue to be amazed at the history here and the fact that you are looking at 800 years of history.

With the kids not getting as excited about old churches as me, we head to the playground to finish another lovely weekend. For me it is back to work and for Adelaide tomorrow is her first day at here new school. More excitement ahead.

Family re-united

Well it has been exactly 70 days and the family have finally arrived. With the expected arrival time at 4.50am, the thought of leaving at 1am for the drive to Heathrow was not going to happen. So I booked my self into the cheapest 1 room hotel I could find. At £37 per night, the hotel was actually an old house that had obviously been made unfit for living due to its proximity to the airport. When they say close they mean CLOSE!. It was directly under the main runway which meant that there was no chance of missing the flight as the room shook as each plane thundered what appeared to be 2 metres above my bed.

So the night was spent counting planes instead of sheep in great excitement for the arrival. I knew I couldn’t complain about the lack of sleep knowing Kathy was in a confined space 30,000 feet in the air with god knows what chaos going on. So up at 4am leaving no chance of being late, I waited for three screaming beasts to appear with armed guards escorting a deranged and unstable women from the plane. To my surprise a very calm lady and three children appeared from the door. It was only when there was a big scream ‘daddy’ that I recognised my beautiful girls were finally hear.

All went well on the flight and despite very little sleep from any of them, everyone was on their best behaviour. Not sure if Kathy found a new drug, but what ever it was, I were told they were all excellent.

So the last couple of days have been the girls getting over jet lag and myself getting over the increased noise level. It is great to be a family again.

A Great Day

A bit of a story this one so you may want to kick of your shoes before going any further.

With grey skies, drizzling rain and a distinct lack of sun I was starting to wonder if this was England for the next 10 months. But yesterday was different. I woke to an unusual sensation. The warmth of the early morning sun shining through my bedroom window and the first light dancing on the walls as white pillow clouds drifted in the sky. Even the little red robin out my window was telling me that today was going to be a special day.

I had planned to go to Swanage and catch up with Bridget, my boss, for a walk along the coast path. The coastline is so different to the dark black cliffs of Lyme Regis or the red magnificent cliff lines of Burton Bradstock. Here, it looks like natures creator has taken large pieces of white chalk and gouged huge bit marks out of it. And just to make it more dramatic against the blue skies, she has splashed an iridescent green paint along the top and dribbled it down the sides.

We set out for a walk snaking our way along the top of the South West Coast Path. With a slight chill in the air, a gleaming sun bouncing of the water and the contrasting white cliffs it was a picture postcard worth writing home about (hence this little story).

After a lovely stroll, what better way to finish than sitting in a café overlooking the bay eating chips and bacon and egg sandwich. Mmmmmmmm. While this could have been the end to a great day, the offer for a quick ale at the local pub couldn’t be refused. Now I must tell you now that I only decided to go because Bridget insisted, because as you all know I don’t drink!!

So three o’clock, here I am sitting in the most eclectic English pub that you really only think exists in those travel brochures. With a small low door that manages to collect any person over 5 foot on the head, a bar the size of a postage stamp, local ales that are hand brewed right in front of you, a roaring fire and a bunch of paraphernalia from swords stuck in the roof to sheep horns on the mantle, it was as local as you could ever get. To add to the atmosphere, a couple of locals pull out their guitars, accordion and harmonica and proceeded to fill the small pub with magical music that had everyone in awe. Having mastered the drinking of the English pint, we settled in, and finally I had found one of the main reasons I wanted to come over here.

As the sun slowly set, and the pints continued to flow there could only be one more thing to do – and that was a game of darts. Now having practiced for 4 years at Parramatta, I thought this would be my chance to make us Ozis proud. Unfortunately it did not go as planned with a resounding loss every time. I finally realised that the thing I was missing while practicing back home was the 5 pints under my belt! So having acquired a few too many beverages it was time to call it a night.

I am not sure if yesterday was a dream or I was so drunk that my mind was playing tricks on it self, but this morning I woke to the common sound of rain pattering on the roof, a cold wind cutting through your bones, grey skies and a recognition that the sun had decided to head back home to Australia. Maybe it will decide to come back some time in the future and when it does I will be ready.
The end