The Last Chapter

There comes a time whilst travelling that the cravings for things you can only find at home turns into a yearning. No – not just for Vegemite. I missed watching Carlton get flogged. I missed sunshine. I missed the screeching noise of cicadas’ in the later afternoon. I missed Eddie Maguire's hosting “Who Want's to be a Millionaire” rather than the Greek Spiros Marionos, Italian Fabio Velentino or Egyptian Abdul-Haleem. I missed our supermarkets. I missed playing in my garden. I missed some bloody great friends. I missed home.

And so it was time to head to the airport for one last time. After picking up some luggage left in Heathrow while we were travelling (no need for the thirty extra pairs of Kathy’s pants in Europe) we now had enough suite cases to cater for 50 people. But unfortunately we were not travelling Business Class so were limited to 1 case and 1 hand luggage each. I was beginning to think it may have been cheaper to fly business class rather than pay for the extra bags. After much packing and unpacking, discarding snow boots and kitchen sinks, giving away prams and kids clothing, we were down to 1 bag extra – not bad for 12 months away. However this was on the assumption that the 50kg crammed in to my day pack would go un-noticed at check in.
Unfortunately the sweat running down my face and the excruciating pained expression as my body was bent backwards due to the weight was noticed - “can you put your bag on the scales sir”. So now we had a bag and a half to send back as cargo. Another repack (including my travel diary) and the luggage was on a slow boat to home.

The family on the other hand were heading for the plane – not together but Kathy and the kids flying Virgin Atlantic and me Singapore airlines. Now due to my testicles being removed earlier due to this decision I don’t want to go in to the specifics of why we flew separately but at least we were leaving and arriving at the same time. Now I could tell you all about being upgraded to business class and having a supermodel sitting next to me but there is no way I would say anything as Kathy endured 23 hours in a confined space with three children.

But here we are now – home. The end of a fantastic 13 months and a life changing experience for us all. I am going to miss writing this blog and boring you all about what we are doing but it is time to hang up the key board for the last time. But before I do I might do one more to capture the best - and worst – of our adventure. But you will have to wait a week or so for me to overcome the jet lag – it is 1am as I sit and type this so must go and force my self to sleep.

Welcome terrorists to Air Italia

There is something very relaxed about the Italians. I am not sure if it has something to do with the siesta or quantity of red wine consumed at any time of the day. But our experience so far with Air Italia has been 'interesting'. Flying from Rome to Barcelona, going through security check in the person who was meant to be watching the x-ray screen was in deep conversation with a fellow worker ignoring what was going through. Even Kathy who set of the metal detector had a momentary hand waved over her and that was it. Then boarding the plan there was no check of boarding tickets.

Was this a rare case? Seems not. Leaving Rome (stopover) to Athens as I was pasing through the security I noticed the person 'watching' the screen had a strange bobble to his head. On closer inspection he was asleep and slowly droping his head to the desk then lifting it as he got close. He certainly did take the concept of siesta seriously! Then boarding the plane we noticed two people in our seats. It turns out they were not meant to be on this flight!

I am guessing that Italy is not high on Osamas priority targets but it does make you wonder???

Centre Stage

And in great ozi tradition there was no better way to say goodbye to work than on centre stage with a beer in hand saying thanks to all the pommie bastards for a good time and inviting them over for a barbie. The work end of year pantomime (only something that I have recently realised is a British tradition) was the 'Wizard from Oz' so who better to enter the stage to the shouts of “HE’s BEHIND YOU” than a real Oz.

I still have one more encore with drinks tomorrow night. With all this going on it is difficult to comprehend that we still have not packed and we leave in a couple of days. It is not that we don’t want to leave but more a denial that we will be able to actually pack all our crap into the same cases we came over here with. It looks like I will be wearing 2 pairs of pants, 4 pairs socks, 3 jumpers and 2 jackets on the plane. Ok – need to go and sit on a suitcase………

winter

With a week to go before we leave winter returns bringing to end the full cycle of spring, summer and spring since I have arrived. The winters in Weymouth are not usually severe. While the rest of the country comes to a stand still at the first sign of snow, it is the early morning frosts that mark winter here. In the morning as you step out side your senses know straight away it is winter. The feel of the crisp frosty air on your face; your breath visible in front of you; the sound of ice crunching under your feet; and the smell of wood smoke from the nearby hamlet. Gloves are a must as a strong northerly wind cuts through 4 layers of clothing.

Different seasons each have their own unique light and winter is no different as the sun hovers on the horizon, trying unsuccessfully to get itself in to the air. As a result, the light is muted and subdued. The sky is a light pastel of blues with sunrise and sunsets being infused with streaks of pale pinks and yellow. With the sun struggling to get up in the morning the daylight hours are restricted to just a few hours which you manage to see outside your window during lunchtime.

In the winter months, when the leaves have fallen, the landscape takes on a strange sleepy state with the bare silhouettes of the beech trees against a grey sky. The light gleaming from thousands of frozen drops on all the branches gives the countryside its own Christmas decorations. Hunting season is has started and the faint sounds of gun shots echo out across the valley.

Walking around the villages, towns and along the many paths there is no sign of the thousands of tourists and visitors that have descended on the place in summer. The peace and tranquillity encourages you to linger longer and explore but the cold pushes you to the nearest pub, preferably one with an open fire.

It has been a great experience being able to see England in all its seasons. But, like the many birds that have decided to migrate for the winter, it is our time to join the flying birds on a path to warmer lands. I wonder if they have a nice cold beer waiting for them at the end of their journey?

10 DAYS

Confirm taxi – check
Book accommodation – check
Take out extremely large bank loan – check
Prepare for kids farewell party – check
Re-paint entire house – check
Panic – check
Pack bags – bugger
Get ready to leave – SH*$!!!

It is hard to believe that the number on the blog has rolled over to 10. Not 10 months but 10 DAYS! Looking around you would not think that our little adventure is coming to an end. My last week at work is not much different to any other. There is the usual meetings, Council reports to prepare, staff to chastise, and Councillors to ignore.

There is a hint that something is different with the corridor chat about what warm weather will be like, some staff asking me how many people can fit into a suitcase and for some reason a cheer every time I see the IT Manager. There is also something strange in that all the staff have been very nice to me, especially saying some complimentary words at our last Unit meeting. This is either a sign that I have actually managed to make a small difference or that a year of ozi hell is over for them and they can finally return to serious, tie wearing normality.

Little do they realise that they have not seen the back of me yet. Next week the staff are holding an end of year pantomime and have decided to call it the Wizard of OZ. Based on the script my last impression may be a memorable one for all the wrong reasons. I think I am glad that I am leaving the country but there is a good chance that I will never be allowed back in again.

Home is likewise its normal chaotic self with the kids still at school and Kathy trying to get organised for our one last hurrah. We need to constantly remind ourselves that in 2 weeks time the idea of going to ASDA to do the shopping, saying hi to Lello and Carrots (our horse and donkey neighbour) or scraping the ice of the car windscreen will be a thing of the past.

And so as we soon enter the world of single digits, it time to continue with the final list

Get cleaners in – check
Pick up travel tickets – check
Organise travellers cheques – check

Say good bye…………….

20 DAYS

The countdown continues and it is hard to believe it is all coming to an end. Looking back we are amazed at what we have managed to achieve, see and do. With 20 Days to go I thought I would look back at my early blogs and give a summary of some of the highlights:

January: First Day on the job; Ozis win the Ashes; Sun set over Corfe Castle; Australia Day and a surprise at work; gale force winds; preoccupation with Australia/Weymouth connections; its COLD.

February: 5000 year old barrows; Ireland-England Rugby game; weird village names; Roman baths in Bath; holding the Council Mace; A ramble around Portesham; my first soccer (oops football) game; Snowdrops.

March: Getting drunk at Worth Matravis; The family finally arrives; Lulwoth cove in the sun; Spring at Kingston Maurwood; my impressions of the English;

April: Anzac day ceremony; Kathy gets a job; a love of Paris; A cuppa with the Queen in London; Easter at Lulworth Castle; Jean comes for a visit; the mystery of Stonehenge; Steam train ride to Swanage; Sherborne Castle; some cheese at Cheddar George; Glastonbery

May: Gardens on steroids as the Chelsea flower show; Stratford and the home of Shakespeare; baby swans; FA Cup final; Montacute House with Sam and Jem; A celtic journey to Wales; mists of Snowdonia; Slate mines.

June: Nottingham and Robin Hood; A vomit scene from the exorcist; Cambridge and a catch up with Lucy and family; Windsor Castle; Legoland with the kids; Dorchester Carnival; my obsession with roundabouts; A story about beer; A week in France; Resort in Cote d’azure; The glamour of Cannes; the glitz of Monaco; hill top villages; beautiful French food

July: Hawks in Hampshire; Greta and Phil visit; museums and plastic dummys in London; Summer has gone missing; Cornwell sunsets and the wild Cornish coast; Eden domes; St Michaels Mount; Brussels chocolate and beer; Cobbled streets of the old town

August: Jean visits again; A big Homer Simpson, Yorkshire Dales and a warm pudding; St Andrews golf; Edinburgh; Kathy turns 39; Campervaning around Scotland; rain on the Isle of Mull; Sunsets over Arisaig Beach; Else of Skye; The majesty of Ben Nevis; Lockness hunting; Eilean Donan Castle; Castle Urquhart; A highland fling at the highland games; Beatrix Potter; Lakes District; Castlerigg stone circle

September: Twins first day at school; mist over Dartmoor; Chalet on the Cornish coast; Canterbury Cathedral; red wide with Sam and Jem; White Cliffs of Dover; Dover Castle

October: Oxford; Blenheim Palace; Cotswold countryside; Guinness; Dublin; dinner and a pint in Dingle; Rock of Cashel; camping at Kinsale; Killarney; Ring of Kerry; Kathy goes to Paris with Trudie; Ozi’s lose the world cup;

November: Prague and the old town; Prague Castle; Russian history; Autumn sets in; The end is close

In addition to all of this I have (hopefully) contributed significantly to W&PBC as part of my work, Kathy has brought in some greatly needed ‘pounds’ and developed her skills further and we have somehow managed to prevent the kids from getting completely out of control.

I am exhausted just looking at all this. Would I do it all again – you bet!!!!

Return on the Bounty

It seems that it has taken me 12 months to finally get people to go to the pub for a drink. Unfortunately it appears this is to ensure that I am shackled and deported back home. I thought I would show you the invite that went out from someone here:

"Those of you with a keen sense of history will recall that Captain James T. Cook first landed on the penal colony of Australia at Botany Bay and, not surprisingly, decided he did not like the look of it. Instead of following his instincts and returning home, he turned left and founded the first convict stockade at Parramatta. I am pleased to be able to inform you that it has been decided to reintroduce transportation and a certain felon has been found guilty of having an earring, supporting the wrong rugby team and complaining about warm, flat beer.

James Carey has been sentenced to be repatriated on the SS Big Bird leaving not from the Tower of London, but HM Detention Centre Heathrow on 21 December. As with the Dorset's most famous convicts, who hailed from a small hamlet east of Dorchester, the felon will leave by stage coach some time beforehand to ensure he does not make a claim of denial of sub-human rights. To make sure that he does not miss the boat, a celebratory farewell will take place at a local hostelry on Wednesday, 19 December. If it is your intention to come along and throw rotten eggs at this felon, can you please let me know."

Well – at least I will get a beer out of them!

30 Days

OK, so it seems some people have said that I am starting to sound like a ‘winging pom’ and it is time I headed home. As it is now only 30 days to go before we leave here are 30 things that I will miss about living here:

1. Weymouth Beach in the morning
2. Europe on your door step
3. The changing seasons
4. Waking up to the noise of cows mooing
5. An open fire at home
6. Spring and the splash of daffodils across the landscape
7. Going on a ramble
8. Pints of good English beer
9. Looking forward to each weekend with a new adventure
10. Supporting and guiding colleagues at work
11. Friendly road drivers
12. A good Cornish pasty
13. A traditional English pub
14. Watching the squirrel in our back garden
15. Morning mist over the fields
16. Having lunch while watching the fishing boats in Weymouth harbour
17. Watching the kids dress up for Halloween
18. History, from Windsor Castle to Stonehenge
19. Stunning walks along the Jurassic coast
20. The feeling that you could leave your door unlocked at night
21. Little Britain
22. Cheap flights (greenhouse gas vandal)
23. Being close to the beach
24. Adelaide said her school
25. A big back yard
26. Seeing the kids in scarf’s, woolly hats, gloves and coats in winter
27. No dangerous spiders, mosquitoes and flies
28. No traffic (despite what the locals think)
29. New friends
30. …………..

Bugger – cant think of any more – it is a pitty I don’t have 29 days to go….

Autumn

The flowers are dying, the berries and fruits are appearing, the leaves are changing colour and dropping. It must be autumn. One thing about living in England is you really do know and appreciate the seasons. The chill in the early morning air is crisp and clean and provides just a glimpse as to how cold it is going to get in Winter.

Unlike Australia with our many evergreen trees, the vegetation here knows that winter is just around the corner and the entire countryside begins to prepare for its three month hibernation. Even the hedgerows, that were once a flush of green reaching out across the narrow lanes, appear to have been defeated and retreat back to the edges.

Most noticeable is the beautiful yellows and oranges that splash across the landscape as the oak, ash, maple, blackthorn and guelder rose reveal their autumn hues. The woodlands become a mystical place as the sunlight streams in through the broken canopy and the grounds crunch under your feet in the fallen leaves. One of the oddest wildlife arrives hidden among these fallen leaves - the fungus. Weird and wonderful shapes and colours emerge in the strangest places.

Out the back our resident grey squirrel is busily collecting all manner of nuts and berries and burying them in the lawn for the winter ahead. I sat and watched her (I am guessing it was a her by the way she was so indecisive as to where she wanted to dig) busily run from the tree to the ground and back again for what seemed like hours.

As the days get shorter, getting up in the morning is getting that little bit harder. While it does mean that you get to see the sun rise and the beautiful streaks of colour in the early morning mist, it also means heading home from work in the dark.

The benefit of spending an entire year in a place is the opportunity of experiencing the sights, sounds and smells of all the seasons. Only a couple more weeks and even Autumn will be behind us as we march towards the end of the year and the chance of hopefully experiencing our first ever white Christmas. Something to look forward to.

50 Days

Doesnt time fly. Looked at the blog today I noted my countdown clock showed that we only have 50 days left before we leave. It only seems a few months ago when Illana called me in to her office and asked "You know how you always said you and Kathy wanted to work overseas. Well how would you like to go to England for a year?"

Little did I realise that in a short few months we would be living on the other side of the world.

Kathy has finished up her work this week. I have said this now gives her time to start getting organised for our end of year trip and prepare for leaving. For some reason she thinks it is time to go to the gym every day, watch day time TV and relax.

Any way, 50 days will become 5 in no time so start getting prepared everybody - the Careys are comin home!

ps: I know where you all live so you cant hide from us

Wallaby Road Kill

Ok, this weekend was one of the few which we have not drugged the children and thrown them in the boot to head off to some new village, castle or misty dale. No – it is not that we are settling in to a normal life here – instead we are heading to Ireland next Wednesday so it is the only chance I have of cutting the lawn before it is listed as old growth forest.

But before I lost three hours of my life walking up and down a paddock (I hope Alex gets a sheep when he returns) a faint call of patriotism beckoned. I didn’t have my Wallabies jumper so the best I could do was order a Fosters at the bar and settle in to a thrashing of the English…. Well that was the plan.

The Luggers Inn was full. It began with God Save the Queen being sung by the crowd and at that point I knew we were in trouble. With the exception of the Kiwi next to me I was the only other person who didn’t have some form of red or white attached to their torso. I stood proud and sang along with Stirling Mortlock to Advance Australia Fair but it seems we were both out of tune today.

As the game tussled back and forth I was a lone voice yelling for someone to mess up Wilkinson’s hair and for Tuqiri to do something useful but alas all the encouragement was not listened to. It seemed even with the Eifel tower bathed in green and gold while Kathy was in France (I will get her to post about the fun and misadventure she got up to with Trudie) there was little that could be done to bolster the troops. And so it ended with a hundred cheers from the crowd all directed squarely to me as I hovelled in the corner a beaten man.

Time to make a quick escape out the fire exit and think about doing those lawns….. na it can wait. I think I will plan which village, castle or misty dale we will visit in Ireland.

40-1=39

But before I continue the tales of our journey a slight interlude to wish Kathy a happy Birthday. Thanks to those that rang or e-mailed to remind her (especially because I know she has been working hard to ignore this one). We had a lovely dinner at Gordon and Irene’s.

No botox or boob job on the Birthday list so we got her a good pair of walking boots for our highlands walking instead.

Speaking of Birthdays - happy birthday to Bro (I won't mention how old you are) and Drew. I will have a pint for you.

Something on my mind?

What freudian message do you think these photos I have taken is saying??

I still call Australia home

I am not sure if I am getting home sick of just seeing things but for some reason Brussels seemed to remind me of home???

What do you think these photos are telling me?

Floats and cake

There is something typically British about the fair and local fete. It is one of those events that you must do if you are to truly say you have experienced living in the UK. Much like having a pint in a small English pub there are just some things that must be done.

So it was with little excitement and minimum expectation, we went to the local school fete last weekend. On arrival we were greeted by a woman with a bright flack jacket with PTA plastered across it. I soon realised that this was not Police Tactical Assault but one of the dedicated Parents and Teachers Association reps that were directing the days events with army precision.
On entering the school oval there was a sea of children and parents streaming between islands of tents and stalls. The cake stand was overflowing with home made brownies, sponge cakes, biscuits and an assortment of other inedible sweets. There was the jumble stall containing mountains of things parents have always wanted little Johny to get rid of but could never pry from their hand. With broken toys, colouring-in books that were already coloured in, jig-saws with missing pieces, and Barbies with a missing body parts we still managed to come home with a boxful of things.

Then their was the food raffle, toy raffle, alcohol raffle, cow raffle and strippergram raffle (I couldn’t find that one) all enticing your hard earned money for that remote chance to win something you didn’t need or want. Like any good fete, the kids were not forgotten. There were jumping castles, archery, throw the wet sponge, luck dips and even a ride on steam train.

The end of the evening saw us head of to the procession through the main street with floats of all kinds and shapes. There was everything from the ‘young farmers’ in their tractors, to ‘Ms Joans hairdressers’ on the back of a pick-up truck . And just to show that we are slowly becoming part of the community, Adelaide was part of ‘scallywags float’ (where she goes to after school care). And guess what – Adelaide even made the news with a full page photo in the local paper – yes grandma and Jemma – she will post you a copy.

It was an experience that we just don’t seem to have mastered in the City. It was almost reminiscent of the past when children could play outside unsupervised, where mums role was in the kitchen and the fathers stayed at the pub for the 5 oclock swill. Not that this is what we should return to thanks Mr Howard, but it was great to see so many parents wanting to be part of the community and get involved in their child’s education. Connections that I think many of us have lost.

Overall it was a great day and something that typifies life in the south of England. But there is still much to see and do if we can truly say we have experienced Britain. There is the curries in Birmingham; going to an over-prised musical in west end, eating a deep fried Mars Bar and much more. And only 6 more months to do it.

The Magic Roundabout

Now I know my little rant about English road signs may lead you to think that this is just because I am a confused Australian but I feel finally vindicated after reading an article in today’s paper from Jeremy Clarkson (you may know him from lesser roles in ‘Top Gear’ and ‘Who stole my car’). I feel I must repeat his quote below:

“Eventually I arrived at the biggest roundabout in the world looking for signs to the next town on my list. Basingstoke. There aren’t any. The council and the Highways Agency have decided instead to list a number of villages no one’s ever heard of. So, using the sun, I took a stab and miraculously ended up on the right road. Which, with no warning whatsoever, became the wrong road.

I wonder sometimes how much of the traffic on our roads today is made up of people in strange towns trying to make some kind of sense of the signs.

There’s one in west London that says the right turn ahead will take you to Clapham. Yes it will, but it will also take you to Earls Court, Fulham, Chelsea, Putney, Brixton, Brighton, France and the Kamchatka peninsula in eastern Russia. Why single out Clapham?

Then there are one-way systems. The day before my four-hour trip across the southeast I was in Lyndhurst, down there in the New Forest. You arrive at a set of lights and want to go straight on, but instead you’re forced to go left, into a one-way system of such mind-boggling complexity and such length that halfway round most people pull over and try to will themselves to die.

And have you been to Stroud? You arrive from the west and no matter what you do you end up in the railway station car park. And Basingstoke, where you are sucked off a dual carriageway, whether you like it or not, and wind up in a multi-storey car park. And you have to pay to get out again.”

I do wonder if this is a conspiracy and that the Highways Agency is actually run by those companies that sell in-car navigation systems. Here is an example from Swindon. I am guessing they call it the Magic roundabout because, like Harry Houdini, you are going to need some form of magic if you are ever going to escape.

Who is that masked man?

I thought I would post this photo just to prove that I do exist and here in the UK and not just posting a whole lot of postcard photos from the web. Although, looking at the photo I could be anywhere. The beer is not typically english so may be I am really just hanging out in Parramatta?

My version of the story is that Kathy doesnt like taking photos so you never see a photo of me in it. Her version is that she never has a chance getting close to the camera because I spend the entire trip seeing things through a 1cm x 1cm viewfinder.

Anyway - speaking of beer, The UK is awash with an amazing number and choice of beers. There are bitters, stouts, milds, porters, winter warmers and even a few morning mouth washes. There seems to be more choice in beer than the number of English Inns and there is almost 11 Inns for every English person! It is no wonder, with taverns being unearthed in some of the Roman cities and the good old Norman Conquerors who scattered the English countryside with Abbeys and Monastries, each with its own brewery - I reccon those monks had a great time.

As a result you end up with some great beer names including: Old Legover, Gone Fishing, Old Slug, Couch Potato Lager, Bitter & Twisted, Dirty Tackle, What The Fox's Hat, Hopping Hare, Hobgoblin, Fursty Ferret, Hens Tooth, BeeWyched, Wychcraft and my favourite Tangle Foot. The best set of beers I have had so far are: Piddle in the Hole, Piddle in the Wind, Piddle in the Dark and Piddle in the Snow - and yes after drinking all that you do need to do a piddle!

Frank Zappa once said: ‘You can't be a real Country unless you have a BEER and an airline -- it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a BEER.’ In that case I am not sure how the UK didn’t manage to take over the world.

Looks like there is only another 2373 beers to taste before I come home.

"I ale, it is such a nourisher of mankinde"
John Taylor 1580-1653

A Small World

Sometimes I think how far we are from Australia but then, every now and again, some strange thing happens to really show how small the world really is.

This story begins with a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon, the home of Shakespeare.

Having not booked a place to stay we arrived into Stratford and began to seek out accommodation. Now as you know there are 5 people in this family – well 4 if you just happen to be an owner of a hotel which we would like to stay in. You see, it is impossible to get anywhere that is large enough or willing enough to take 5. The whole world conspires against families with 5. Family tickets are always 2 adults and 2 children, cars are designed for 2+2 and hotel rooms only cater for 2+2. I sometimes consider that we as a family are in the absolute minority as we are still married, never divorced, kids not in jail or on some form of drug, and yes we have 3 children. . I am here to tell you that the perfect family of 2+2 is a myth.

Anyway – sorry for the diversion – back to the story.

We finally pulled in to a nice looking hotel and Kathy went and asked if they had a room for 4. The nice lady at the front counter said that they could bring in a fold down bed to make up 4 beds in the room. Great – we will take it. Now the next trick was to decide how to smuggle 1 of our invisible children past the front desk which was kindly located in full view of the front door. No problem – that is why we have twins. So with military precision Kathy takes Adelaide and one of the twins up while Bethany and myself hide in the car. Exactly 5 minutes and 10 seconds after Kathy has gone we enter the hotel in the hope that they didn’t remember how many kids were with Kathy, or at the worst that one has come back down again.

Just in case plan A is not convincing, Bethany crouches down just below the desk so she cant be seen and tip toes stealth like past the desk. Ensuring that there is no chance of any eye contact we move rapidly holding our breath – will the cameras get us (this is the most watched country in the world)? Will the accommodation comados appear out of nowhere? The heart races….we can see the lift…almost there… we made it.

So with kids smuggled into the room, it was time for some room service. But the question is – how do we get room service without them seeing the extra stow away. So with children in a circle the next plan is prepared. When there is a knock at the door, Isabelle is to hide under the bed. After many practices and lots of giggles from a talking bed the plan gets into place.

Room service is ordered….there is a knock at the door…..there are herds of elephants crashing in the room…. The door opens….
“here is your order – where would you like it?” ....
...."O that is alright I will take it thanks”...
…. The bed lets out a loud whimper…..the door is SLAMMED SHUT just in time for the porter to extract his hand before being decapitated. SUCCESS.

So the next morning time to pack the car we are feeling comfortable in our ability to extract ourselves in the same manner. What could go wrong?

Well this is where the small world comes into it. As I walk back in from packing the car I past the front desk and hear an ‘Australian’ accent. I stop and reminisce how I miss that sound but on listening closer my head thinks – I know that voice. Looking over to the desk (something I had avoided the whole time), who do I see but a stately gentleman and his wife who I work with in PARRAMATTA! Either Illana has sent someone over to spy on me or this is an amazing fluke. We both gawk in disbelief at the coincidence of meeting each other. After picking our jaws up of the floor we enter into long discussions over how long are you here for, where have you been, what have you seen, are you missing Parramatta (NOT)….. By this stage the front desk are engrossed in this amazing conversation but all of a sudden the next question catches me by surprise.
...“ So how are the three kids? – are the twins enjoying their stay? – where are they?”

CAPOW - With that, the horn is blown RETREAT, RETREAT, pull the plug, withdraw all troops - I extract myself in blur leaving the couple standing by themselves staring into an empty corridor. "Sorry Bruce! Cant talk now" as I disapear never to be seen again.

So the lessons are:
1. no matter where you are in the world don’t ever let your guard down.
2. don’t even think of cheating on your partner in a hotel room even on the other side of the world

3. Don’t have three children

Life goes on

Many of you have probably had enough of my ramblings on history, castles and my visit to churches so I thought I would spend a little bit of time updating you on family life.

Adelaide has settled in well at school and has made lots of new friends. Already her social life is better than mine, as she has been invited to 3 birthday parties, has a new friend a few doors up, goes swimming every week and is doing both tap and jazz ballet. If you have not noticed yet she is doing her own blog which lots of people think is more interesting than mine.

Isabelle and Bethany turn 4 in three weeks. It is amazing how quick they are growing up. Yes – Bethany has started to acquire a slight accent. I am not sure if it is from day care which she attends three days a week or the bad English TV she watches. With the warmer weather (an amazing 20 deg which is a heat-wave for this time of year) it has been great watching them run around in the back yard in their fairy dresses (yes mom they still wear their dresses) and feed the horse over our back fence.

Kathy has decided that she has had enough of the easy life and decided to get a job (the truth is at £100 a beer someone has to bring in more money!). She is working for her old company Sigma doing contract work three days a week. A great experience and is providing an opportunity to get out and be an adult.

And what about me – well work is still going really well and after three months they have decided not to deport me back to Oz. As many of you know the role is varied (from museums to performance management) but I have found that the core skills of good staff management allows any challenge to be tackled. Unusual for this place, but I requested a 360 deg review from my staff to get a sense of how we are travelling and got some great feedback so I must be doing something right…….? Hard to believe that ¼ of the year is over already.

Life at home has its usual ‘ground hog’ feel as we go through the daily routine of getting kids ready in morning, school, home from school, dinner, bath, kids to bed, kids back to bed again…..GO BACK TO BED KIDS! But each weekend we are shaken out of the routine as we plan our next great adventure. Currently planning a week in France, a trip to Wales, and our big three weeks to Scotland so enough to keep the hog away.

So life goes on with the Careys as we step 1 more day closer to coming home with lots of new experiences, new friends and memories that will last for ever.

Worshipping the great mother land

NOTE: if you are reading this as an e-mail you really need to go to the blog

Now I know people worship lots of different things and I also know that some people think Australia is a great place but I never thought I would come across this on my travels.
Within the Notre Dame, the Catholic church I mentioned before, the immense church was lit by streams of light filtering through the numerous stained glass windows, and hundreds of candles flickered as a sign of life and memory of others. There was the opportunity to light a candle in front of many different shrines, from magnificent paintings of Mary to large crosses ornately decorated. But as we turned the corner and came across this most awe inspiring and memorable shrine I knew that this was the one for us.

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