Category Archives: Australian Abroad

Father’s Days…Or Should That Be Daze?

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Today we will be taking a little break from my recent travels to explore the concept of Father’s Day.

It’s been prompted by the fact that the UK and the US (and a lot of other countries apparently) celebrate today yet we Aussies wait until the first Sunday in September to pay tribute to the Old Man. 

It doesn’t even align with Mother’s Day, which we celebrate on the second Sunday in May (same as the US) almost 2 months later than here in the UK. It’s mighty confusing. And in pondering this very issue out loud with my hairdresser yesterday, I made a pledge (she did have scissors in her hand at the time) that getting to the bottom of this sticky question would be my priority for the remainder of the weekend.

Father’s Day is a relative newcomer to the ‘holiday’ calendar (although who gets a holiday?) first appearing in the USA 102 years ago when, following a sermon in Spokane in 1909, a young parishioner, who had lost her mother in 1898, asked for a way to honour her father. Originally suggesting her father’s birthday, the 5th June, the eventual date was set for 19th June 1910. And whilst Father’s Day was born, it took until 1972 for it to take hold when Lyndon Baynes-Johnson declared the third Sunday in June a national holiday.

The third Sunday in June is the Father’s Day of choice for many countries – USA, UK, India, Canada, China, France, Greece, Hong Kong, Pakistan, Singapore, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Switzerland and Turkey. But other countries choose different dates to honour fatherhood. Russia celebrated on 23rd February this year and Thailand will take its turn on the 5th December. Spain, Belgium and Italy celebrated on the 19th March, Germany on May 17th (always on Ascension Day the Thursday forty days after Easter) and Sweden will on the second Sunday in November. South Korea had Parent’s Day on the 8th of May (so one day for all parents instead of two separate days) and Brazil will celebrate the day of fathers on the second Sunday in August.

You can see why expat life can be very confusing.

For the record, Australia and New Zealand pay tribute honour make an effort on the first Sunday in September. I have googled and googled and there is nothing that tells me why this is – which makes for a rather uninteresting and pointless post. So I decided to look at what else happened on the 2nd September in the vain hope of finding something.  No cigar but here are a few of the more interesting things I found:

In 44BC Pharaoh Cleopatra VII of Egypt declared her son co-ruler as Ptolemy XV Caesarion.
In 911 Viking-monarch Oleg of Kiev-Russia signed a treaty with Byzantines
In 1666 the Great Fire of London began in Pudding Lane
In 1859 gas lighting was introduced to Hawaii
In 1929 Unilever was formed by merger of Margarine Union & Lever Bros
In 1945 Japan formally surrendered to the Allies, bringing an end to World War II
In 1969 the first ATM to be installed in America started dispensing cash at Chemical Bank in New York City.
In 1993 South Africa celebrated its Day of Peace
In 2003 it was happy 100th birthday to the Harley-Davidson motorcycle
And in 2011 Apple won in court in Dusseldorf banning the sale of the Samsung Galaxy Tablet in Germany   

And what about 2012?  Well, Venice (the one in Italy) will stage their annual regata storica parade as prelude to the regatta, Vietnam will celebrate its national day, the inaugural Poptronik Festival will take place in Sitges, Spain and the annual Butter Trail Run will be held at Tatamagouche, California.

In the UK, the Christchurch Medieval Festival in Co. Dorset happens over first weekend in September, the 22nd Stormin’ the Castle at Witton Castle, Co Durham will be winding down, while England and South Africa will play cricket at Lords and Olly Murs will play Chelmsford.

And at Gidday HQ, I’ll be wishing my Dad a Happy Father’s Day…again.

So to my old man, hope you have had a brilliant Father’s Day (in-waiting).

Stuck For Words…

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Last week I went on holiday to Rome.

It was amazing.

I’d been before – 12 years ago – and we were bussed in and around the sights in the space of 2 days before travelling onto Florence. This time I stayed centrally for 4 whole days, took my guidebook and let myself wander and discover. To absorb Rome’s piazzas, its pizza, its history and its espresso. Its exuberant and irrepressible spirit.

It was fabulous.

I came back Saturday night filled to the brim with vivid memories, and a squillion photos, to share.

And I really don’t know where to start.

I’m stuck. Lost in so many experienes I can barely create any semblance of structure to transfer them (or at least some of them) from my mind’s eye to yours.

This is really strange – I feel the urge to write about it all but can’t seem get past the block. So while I’m working through this dilemma, I thought I’d share a titbit about my inspiration for the trip.

Roman Holiday is one of those wonderful, wonderful movies that makes me feel good all over and I curled up happily a few days before my departure to watch it all over again. Audrey Hepburn captures perfectly Rome’s exuberant spirit and Gregory Peck’s dashingly handsome Joe provides the perfect foil for her wide-eyed charm.

In reality Peck, so convinced by Hepburn’s Oscar-winning performance, insisted that her name appear with his prior to the movie title and the two of them remained good friends until Hepburn’s death in 1993.

There is a scene in the movie where Peck and Hepburn visit the Bocca della Veritas – the Mouth of Truth. You know the scene…where they play at truth-telling while putting their hand inside the mouth. (If you don’t know this scene, shame on you!) Anyway, Peck convinced the director to let him play a prank on Hepburn by pretending that something grabbed his hand.

Neither told her.

So the young princess’ squeal of terror and feisty yet delightful response was Hepburn’s actual reaction to Peck’s prank – and that marvellous scene, captured for all eternity, was filmed in one take.

And that, I think, sums up my Roman holiday…captured for all eternity.

Inspired By…Local Colour

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This afternoon I have been cosied up on the couch with the Diamond Jubilee River Pageant on telly in the background. The banks of the Thames are alive with cheering folk and British-themed bunting, adding a whole lot of local colour to an otherwise grey and drizzly London day.

But this is not a Jubilee post – having already given a nod to Her Majesty just last week – but rather a celebration of local colour right here in Fab Finchley…at our local railway station.

Finchley Central station is on the Northern Line (High Barnet branch) of the London Underground. It was originally opened in 1867 as Finchley & Hendon on a line that ran between Finsbury and Edgware. In 1872 a branch line to High Barnet was constructed and in 1894, the station was renamed Finchley (Church End). It was incorporated into the London Underground network during the 1930s and took its current name – Finchley Central – on April 1st, 1940.

Last night I went into London to see The Duchess of Malfi at The Old Vic so I set off to catch the tube from Finchley Central as usual. The early evening sky was traditional bank holiday grey and I whizzed through the ticket barrier, down the stairs and on to the open air platform hoping that the skies would not see fit to open upon my arrival there. (Contrary to popular belief, parts of the London Underground are not, in fact, under ground.) And not for the first time, I gasped softly in delight.

You see, Platform 3 (for trains travelling south to London) had been transformed into a riot of glorious Spring colour. I’ve seen this testament to green thumbed locals before but the last few weeks of rain – sun – rain has brought forth vibrant purples, bashful pinks, delicate whites and golden yellows in abundance. And as a picture paints a thousand words, here’s a little photo tour for you that I prepared earlier (I love my HTC Desire):


This was my first glimpse – look at all that glorious colour!
Here’s a little nod to the Olympics – but keep this under your hat. We wouldn’t want the organisers to know!
There was some Union Jack-ery in evidence too…
…and a sweet attempt at prettying up ‘Bill Steamshovel’.
There were also a few quirky critters dotted around.
There were a few of these piggy planters…



…a bee who’d come to see a man about a dog…
..and some sheep (a big ‘un and a lil ‘un).
And what’s this hiding in the grass? More quirk-ery perhaps?
It looks to me like a bunny with ears made of carrots!

Isn’t it pretty? There’s real sense of pride – not to mention fun – evident as you walk along the length of the garden and I caught myself smiling as I discovered each of its quirky inhabitants.

So it’s a big (green) thumbs up to the folk at Finchley Central Tube station for making my damp, grey evening just a little less grey. Well done old chaps!

The Land Sans The Long Black…

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This morning I met up with an Aussie friend of mine for brunch. S travels a lot for work and since he has the next 2 weeks in London before his next round of jet-setting, we decided to grab the bull by the horns – so to speak – and catch up over some scrumptious vittels and good coffee at The Modern Pantry in Clerkenwell.

S and I used to work together and as such, he is a fellow afficionado of both the Melbourne coffee scene and that bastion of Italian yummy-ness, Lygon Street. Way back when we worked together, we were fortunate enough to share premises with the barista training school of a very well-known Italian coffee brand. As such, there was no schlepping around with freeze-dried instant or filter coffee for us. It was punchy espresso with gorgeous caramel-coloured crema, warm milky-smooth lattes and luscious foamy (not frothy people – there’s a world of difference) cappuccinos. Let me tell you, we knew our Robusta from our Arabica.

Then we came to London. And caffeine confusion reigned.

You see there are two types of coffee that are ubiquitous in the Land Down Under (and for that matter, in the Land of the Long White Cloud) but as rare as hen’s teeth in Ol’ Blighty. 

The first is the Flat White. It lies somewhere between a warm milky latte (a flat white has less milk and is served hot) and the foaming cappuccino (the flat white has less/no foam). It’s hard to find in London but with the likes of The Australian Times providing a handy list of good flat white-rs in London Town alongside a little Antipodean word-of-mouth, it’s possible. But most places here will translate the Flat White into a white coffee (a black coffee with cold milk), completely ignoring the craft of creating a steaming Long Black before adding a large dollop of warm milk.

Which brings me to my second point – the Long Black. In non-barista terms, it’s a shot of espresso poured into hot water to preserve the crema.

Simple right? Not nearly as complicated as the Flat White one would think.

But apparently so.

Just ask for a Long Black here and watch the bewilderment appear across the face of one’s waiter. Then try to explain it ie. a shot of espresso with hot water (and that’s not getting into the size of the cup it should come in). In most places, the response is ‘oh so you want a black coffee?’ No. Not if you are going to stick my cup under the coffee filter for 5 minutes.

Some will respond by correcting you calling it an Americano, grinning proudly at you as they successfully navigate the lingo of yet another of the half million or so Antipodean immigrants living in London. Well no actually – but at this stage, an espresso topped up with hot water is starting to sound like an acceptable (and considerably less stressful) compromise.

But all I really want is a proper Long Black. I want a lovely shot of espresso – that’s right, like you normally give one who orders an espresso – poured into the cup with hot water. Rich and smooth with a velvety crema. No bitterness, no acrid aftertaste. Understated yet still packing a caffeine punch.

Just like the one this morning.

Anna Hansen may have been ‘chef-fing’ all over the globe – and let me tell you the food was really, really good – but for the coffee alone , The Modern Pantry gets my vote.

Smooth, rich and velvety. Exactly the way I like it.

I Could Have Been Born A Turkey…

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Yesterday I was catching up on some emails and opened up Dr. Alan Zimmerman’s Tuesday Tip.

This motivational email gets delivered to my inbox every Tuesday but it’s been some time since I’ve read one. I’m not sure what made me open this email rather than deleting it like I have been recently. Maybe it had something to do with the title…

The BIG Lie About Success and the Little Secret of Happiness

Dr Zimmerman provides his own personal commentary every newsletter. It’s wedged in between adverts for his courses but there’s always a gem or two. Something to make me stop and think. Sometimes it reminds me to get back into good habits at work or refocus my energies on some simple basics. Sometimes it reminds me that people are people everywhere, wanting to be heard and make a difference, even when they appear belligerent, uncooperative and downright irritating.

Other times, like yesterday, it reminds me about the importance of being happy.

Those simple, often unexpected moments of quiet peace or contentment. The moments where I do what I love and love what I do – at work, at home, with friends and strangers. On the train, at the supermarket, in the coffee shop, walking in the park. In the midst of the familiar and in the maelstrom of the new. Everywhere and anywhere.

Not all the time. But creating the enviroment for happiness to occur is important. It’s like opportunity – if you stay open, things show up. Stay closed and what’s often right in front of you stays invisible.

The newsletter shares some tips – and I found myself nodding…

1. Learn to be happy with less

I am reminded not so much of stuff  itself but of stuff to do. Busy-ness. It’s easy to get busy in life with stuff to do that merely fills my time and does not make me happy. I want to invest more time and energy in the things I love to do – expanding my horizons at work, writing, theatre, books, music – and the people that make me feel good. The ones I know about (you know who you are) and the ones I’ve yet to meet.

2. Seek silence

Peace is an amazing discovery. It took moving across the world for me to find it. I’m not sure whether it’s connected to my physical location or my state of mind but my promise to myself is to stay in touch with what speaks to my soul, even when the route there looks scary.

3. Remind yourself things could be worse

Zimmerman shares a snippet from the cartoon series Peanuts which sums it up perfectly:

Snoopy…was lying in his dog house on Thanksgiving Day, he mumbled about being stuck with dog food while all those humans got to be inside with the turkey, gravy, and pumpkin pie. “Of course, it could have been worse,” he finally reflected. “I could have been born a turkey.”

Wise dog that.

4. Understand what you seek is spiritual not material

Zimmerman refers to this as mastering the ‘art of living’. Being able to handle anything that comes your way. I’ve heard people say that God never gives us more than we can handle. Well I don’t really do God stuff. But I have to say something always ‘turns up’. The universe always provides and I have belief that it will all turn out in the end. It just might not be the end I was expecting. But there’s often happiness there all the same.

5. Look for evidence of peace

There’s a longer list in the newsletter itself but these were my top 3 so I’m keeping an eye out for: 
  • Less interest in judging other people as to what they “should” do.
  • Less interest in the conflicts and gossip that surround me.
  • Contented feelings of connectedness with others and nature.

So here’s to making Gidday from the UK a space for happiness to occur.  Let connectedness abound and “shoulds” die a thousand deaths.

But I give you fair warning. Look out for frequent attacks of smiling.

Remember you could have been born a turkey!

Bliss For The Worker Bee…

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This weekend is a Bank Holiday Weekend meaning some celebration of British-ness has given we worker bees next Monday off.

True to form, the skies have opened, the temperatures have dropped to single figures – 8C is the high for today, THE 5TH OF MAY (yes, that’s me shouting) – and the forecast is not filling me with the hope of any improvement.

As usual.

But a damp-on-the-outside weekend can hold many joys.

Like a cover-to-cover reading of my beloved Saturday Times…


…some inspired planning for my Roman Holiday… 

  …or a few choice flicks (thanks to a free trial from those kind folk at LoveFilm)…

…from the fabulous cosiness of the Gidday HQ couch.

But best of all?

I have nowhere I have to be and I have 3 lovely days in which to do whatever I please.

Now THAT’S worth celebrating.

Your 2012 Five A Day – May

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What is it about jokes of the ‘bodily function’ variety that reduce one to a giggling adolescent?

 
As an Aussie making her life in the UK, I cannot tell you the amount of times I have let it slip that I got my pants wet stepping in a puddle on the way to work. Or that I left my thongs at the door to avoid getting your carpet dirty.

Yes, trousers and casual summer footwear take on a whole new meaning on the other side of the planet.

But this month’s Five A Day reminded me of another Aussie twist on the English language…with the word root.

Here are few definitions from Merriam-Webster. It’s an Encyclopedia Britannica company so it must know:

1a : the usually underground part of a seed plant body that functions as an organ of absorption, aeration, and food storage or as a means of anchorage and support and that differs from a stem especially in lacking nodes, buds, and leaves b : any subterranean plant part (as a true root or a bulb, tuber, rootstock, or other modified stem) especially when fleshy and edible
2 a (1) : the part of a tooth within the socket (2) : any of the processes into which the root of a tooth is often divided b : the enlarged basal part of a hair within the skin—called also hair root c : the proximal end of a nerve; especially : one or more bundles of nerve fibers joining the cranial and spinal nerves with their respective nuclei and columns of gray matter—see dorsal root, ventral root d : the part of an organ or physical structure by which it is attached to the body
Nothing odd here. Long, complicated and a bit boring (actually I ‘switched off’ about two lines in). Just what you expected, right?
But in that land Down Under (you know, where women glow and men plunder), root is another word for having sex.
Yes that’s right.
Sex.
So when you ask us to root around and find that information, we suppress a childish giggle.
And when you ask us which route you should take, those fresh off the boat may let an adolescent snigger escape. (The rest of us are sniggering on the inside.)
And heaven forbid when you Americans say you are rooting for us…
*snort*
*blush*
So what cross-cultural euphemisms have caught you out? Go on, you can tell me.
It’ll be our little secret…
*wink*
*chortle*

——————————————
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Oh What A Night…

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How could a post about the fabulous Jersey Boys be called anything else? It was a night to remember indeed.

To celebrate A-use-to-be-down-the-hill’s birthday a couple of weeks ago, I decided to spring for a girlie night at the theatre. Jersey Boys has had such great reviews during its London run and you never know when these things are going to finish or get all expensive so I grabbed a couple of tickets and off we went.

Fuelled by a couple of glasses of wine over dinner beforehand, we climbed the stairs to the Grand Circle of the Prince Edward Theatre, squashed any vertiginous tendancies and squeezed into our seats to be greeted by a bird’s eye view of the entire stage. Then the music started and we were away.

I’d heard of the Four Seasons and Frankie Valli – although I did get him a little confused with Ritchie Valens before the show began (it’s sometimes good to feel too young to know these things for sure) – but with the first note, I realised that I knew every song. Some of the time I remembered the later cover versions – I particularly remember bopping along to The Spinners’ version of Workin’ My Way Back To You Babe in 1979 – but classics like Big Girls Don’t Cry and Walk Like A Man featuring Valli’s trademark falsetto are still as great now as they ever were.

The show charts the story of The Four Seasons, the struggle to hit the big time, the genius of Bob Gaudio’s writing and Valli’s extraordinary range, the personal tragedies and the ups and downs of life on the road. As Valli (Ryan Molloy on London’s stage) points out, as the bad times always pass, so do the good ones.

This is a fantastic, feel good musical. The cast is great, the show moves swiftly and the music of the era runs its nostalgic fingers through slicked back hair and many great memories. And quite frankly I defy anyone not to let a little tune burst forth on the walk back to the tube. 

Oh wait…I think that was just us…

Tour of Duty…Gunners Style

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For those of you who’ve been following Gidday for at least this year, you may remember I told you about my first sortie into the world of English football, in particular my visit to see Arsenal play Aston Villa at Emirates Stadium in the 4th round of the FA Cup. Arsenal won and I managed to have a jolly good time so it was thumbs up all the way round.

Well would you believe that I’ve been back already? After 8 years in London, I have managed to grace the Gunners home turf with my presence twice in 2 months but this time it was from an entirely different angle. I did The Stadium Tour.

As part of a Charity Dinner I was attending at the end of March, the tour was offered for those wishing to turn up early and get a sneaky peek behind the scenes of one of London’s newest football stadiums.

We headed out from the function area in all our finery and followed our guide, Colin, to the other side of the stadium. Here’s the view from the expensive seats:

We didn’t hang around here though – it was off to have a gander at the Players’ Entrance.

Interestingly, the players get hit smack bang with a big red wall the moment they arrive, just in case there’s any doubt what they are here for.

There are also some photos of…well…blokes playing football (don’t ask me who they were)…

…and also a time capsule placed in 2004 when the stadium was officially named.

Colin then took us to the Players’ Change Rooms where we all got a little feng-shui’ed.

This is where the players change (obviously) and where Arsene Wenger briefs the team. The room is a horse-shoe shape (apparently corners are not great for Feng Shui) with every player considered equal. All sit in their allotted places every time: the defenders sit together, the strikers together and so on. The goalkeeper always sits closest to the entrance/exit and the Captain occupies the middle of the horseshoe’s curve (see Van Persie’s shirt in the picture above).

The middle table is low so that all players can see each other easily when seated. Colin is not a tall fella and as you can see, it only came to waist-height on him. (Sorry if you are reading this Colin.)

We then had a sneaky peak at the Away Change Rooms. Funnily enough, the room is rectangular and you might like to check out the height of the table…

Before we knew it we were heading out to the pitch…

…and into the dugout.

Citroen sponsor this area so the seats are specially designed…and very comfortable.

Arsene sits in that front row seat on the right. I happened to sit there without any prior knowledge of this fact (power attracts power maybe? I’ll bet all the Gunners fans on the tour were gutted I got pole position) so I thought I should let you know what the Wenger view was like…

I know. It doesn’t look that much different compared with the view from the expensive seats higher up.

Anyhow, we were making good time and the next tour group from our do was gaining fast so we managed to squeeze in a visit to the Press Conference room.

The Away Team Manager always gets the first gig after the match here. 25 minutes then he’s off and Wenger takes the chair for 25 minutes. It’s the Press Officer’s job to make sure there’s no over-running.

In the neighbouring corridor there are a number of rooms used by radio and TV channels for post-match interviews. You know when you see a player interviewed in front of a wall with all of the sponsors names on it? Well that’s all it is…

…a wall!

Champagne o’clock was nigh and not wanting to risk the wrath of his thirsty guests, Colin led us back around the stadium to finish the tour. I know the photos start to look the same but I just had to take one more cheeky snap.

You can actually take an audio guided tour of the Stadium yourself rather than wait for an invite aligned to a posh function like I managed. You can also combine it with a visit to the Museum (which I didn’t get to see so you’ll be one up on me!)

I have to admit that it will never have the awesome magnificence of the MCG – they are just enormous shoes to fill. And I’m not a follower of English football (as we have established in my earlier post). But given that it’s an intrinsic part of England’s sporting culture, it was fantastic to feel the ‘passion of the game’ brought to life for the second time this year in Arsenal’s hallowed halls.

Travelling The Australian Way…

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A couple of weeks ago I forked out rather a lot of the old cash-ola to fly Down Under for Christmas. It’s quite a good deal for that time of year but still almost double what any self-respecting Aussie would pay to be wedged in cattle class for 24 hours.

So imagine my consternation when I opened my emails to find this…

…a brilliant April Fools antic from travel afficionados, STA.

All I can say is it’s just as well I read the fine print!