15 april 2008

after a five hour flight that feels 15 times longer, we arrive in australia just after midnight. i’m in the country of my birth for the first time in 29 years. as we drive the dark and empty highways home, i can’t quite believe i’m here, that i was born here, and that i’ll be staying here until the end of june.

we’re met by my stepmum and blossom the cat, and my guest room here is lovely. (i have my own bathroom, too). i notice there’s one of those annoying “natural sounds” CDs playing in my room, with cicadas, crickets or similar chirping away. i look around to turn it off but discover it’s no CD - it’s nature!

i shove my earplugs in deep, and crash out.

am in a very bad mood on waking, as so horribly jet-lagged. also, my dad wakes me from a very deep sleep and starts telling me what to do in quite some detail. after a heated discussion and a good cry, i think he sees my point of view: that this is a holiday, that i can’t do as much as a “well” person… and that that’s okay.

after that upheaval, i change my mind about not wanting to go out, and we head off with my stepmum to fremantle and a lovely veggie cafe* called juicy beetroot, where i have a delicious lentil dahl and rice. i also get two second-hand books from a big charity shop, including asta’s book, which keris keeps saying is good. (i’d better like it!)

we get take-away coffees/hot chocolate and sit by the waves at cottersloe beach, watching the people and dogs running up and down. i fall asleep in the car on the way home.

the day ends with me checking the net, but studiously avoiding my main email accounts so as not to be drawn back into the world of work: have declared this a week off.

the day also ends with blossom leaving a poo in the laundry room. i like to think she’s saying “welcome to australia, diane”.

16 april 2008

you just can’t keep me away: i log onto all my emails today. thankfully, there’s nothing too traumatic to contend with, but people are still contacting me about a feature i wrapped up 8 days ago.

i can’t believe that this time last week i was in the air, the trauma of my airport fiasco still heavy on my mind. it’s that bit harder to adjust when the start of a journey goes badly, especially for someone like me, who always finds it hard to adjust to anything.

i realise i’m really going to miss my ipod speakers as i tidy my room sans sound effects. i unpack everything with great haste, and then leave it languishing on my bed while i talk to my stepmum when she gets home from work (she works part-time in a nursery - plants, not kids, getting home at lunchtime). she bemoans the lack of good, bargainous clothes shopping in oz.

i take the stuff off my bed and pile it on the floor, neatly this time. putting some more stiff away i discover my dad’s secret stash in a drawer.

not what you’re thinking, unless what you’re thinking is ear plugs. more ear plugs than i’ve ever seen in one place - more than have ever been seen in one place.

“well, i’ll need them for the rest of my life,” he tells me.

19 april 2008

we go to a lavender tearoom in the hills of perth, about an hour’s drive. there are imposing signs about highly poisonous tiger snakes everywhere but “we’ve only seen one once” my dad ?reassures? me. i need to use the (outdoor) toilet and do so vairy cautiously… then i sample some lavender scone but settle on lavender ice cream and a “ginger crunch”. yum.  we see some aussie magpies (much bigger than the british version - i later find out they are two different birds, no relation) making off with leftovers as soon as people leave their tables.

we also see some galahs, like pink and grey parrots (brett had one in neighbours, he gave it to libby. or susan - remember?) they’re very pretty and full of character:

on the way back, we stop at kallamunda, which my dad’s mentioned having been to a few times. i expected a big town, but it’s a really small place, just a few shops on two or three streets, the end.

we go into a second-hand bookshop and my dad comments on the owner’s glass-enclosed catcher in the rye. the owner says salinger is hard to come by, so has to be kept pristine.

 ”most of what they turn out is rubbish, but he’s one of very few yanks who actually can write,” he tells us. i’m too jetlagged and agog to ask where his reading habits have been for the last 50 years.

later, we watch year of the dog, a film starring molly shannon and john c reilly which i wouldn’t recommend. “no, it wasn’t very good… was that your pick?” my dad asks.

*my dad is veggie; my stepmum vegan, so i’ll be having a low-meat couple of months…