Pastures New…

Yoohoo!

  Hellooooo!

    I’m over here!

   Coooooeeeee!!!

Now that I have your attention…

Gidday HQ has moved to pastures new.

Last weekend there were keys to exchange, cupboards to clean, movers to step around and goodbyes to say as I farewelled my little front window, climbed aboard the moving van and set off to begin a new chapter on the other side of the river.

As with all good moves, not everything went according to plan but I have arrived and can confirm I am safely ensconsed in the North London suburb of Finchley.

Day 1 – Morning: Many many many boxes to unpack
Day 1 – Evening: Kitchen done!

That’s not Finchley Road peeps (which does not go through Finchley as the name would suggest but rather skirts past West Hampstead in the south). Or East Finchley, lovely though it looks from the tube as it emerges into the night air on my commute home. Or even North Finchley, which is actually one stop too far.

No it’s Finchley peeps. Sometimes known as Church End but really, it’s just Finchley. Bit like ‘just Kym’ (no it’s not short for Kymberley). But I think I will call it Fabulous Finchley for I am determined that life’s next chapter will be filled with all things fabulous.

So yesterday it was time to explore my new neighbourhood (that is the one beyond my easy 5 minute commute to the station….ah bliss!)

Let’s start with a stroll along the street where I live…

The street where I live – look at that Autumn colour!

As I reached the main road (you can just see it in the above  picture if you squint hard enough), I decided to venture right towards North Finchley where, rumour had it, there would be a Carphone Warehouse outlet for me to kit myself out with a dongle. I was having withdrawal symptoms and missing you all dreadfully without internet at home!

Luxury Desserts – what’s not to like?

A little further along I came across a grassy stretch…

An unexpected patch of green right by the road.

…which actually heralded the entrance to local bowls club.

Doesn’t this make you want to kick up the leaves and hear them rustle underfoot?

A bit further on, the spires of the local church pierced the cloudy sky…

The local…church I mean

…and before long, I was in the midst of the hustle and bustle of North Finchley.

Desperately seeking dongle (and door stops actually) as I was, I gave a cursory glance to the myriad of fruit markets, continental food stores, factory outlets and tat shops that spilled out onto the footpath. Until a sweet, sweet sight brought a smile to my face…

Mr Simms is in North Finchley too!

Remember this discovery last Christmas?

Mr Simms in Kingston – a joyous discovery last year

Anyway, this is where the photos stop because by the time I bought my dongle, finally found door stops in Robert Dyas, stocked up on a few essentials at Boots and spent £9 on – yes, you guessed it – tat, I was on my way to that English bastion of all things delicious, Waitrose. Where I bought more stuff.

Which meant more bags (supplied by moi of course – we love to reuse) to carry home. 

Which meant the bus – 10 minutes to go 5 stops versus the 25 minute bag-free wander north earlier.

I think I’m gonna like it here.

Aah, Finchley.  Fabulous already!

A Place For All Seasons…

Two sleeps.

 That’s right peeps. Only two sleeps to go.
I have two sleeps left in Kingston.
Nestled under the currently thinning winter canopy of the tree that has, for almost seven years, shaded the highs and the lows of this Australian abroad.
It has been my haven.
An oasis, tucked away at the top of the winding street.
A spiritual home.
Summer Shade
A place of happiness and heartbreak.
Of worry and frustration. Of peace and calm.
Autumn Colour
A place for all seasons.
 Where I succumbed to my love of books, brilliant skies and bracing British winters.

Winter Sunset
Where I wrote my first blog post, discovered the joys of an afternoon spent baking and picked my first blackberries.

A Burst of Spring
And it’s almost time to go.

To leave my cosy front window.
To tap away in pastures new.
That’s right peeps. Gidday HQ is on the move.
 

View Of A Bridge…Can’t Take Any More

Gidday peeps!

Firstly, apologies if any of you received random emails ‘from me’ over the last 24 hours or so. A small hacking escapade has successfully been stymied and fingers crossed someone’s on-line joy-ride has been brought to an end.

So, after a brief blog interlude, we are back in Prague, city of 1000 spires and the not inconsiderable Charles Bridge. Stretching over the Vltava River, Karluv Most (as it is known to the locals) was commissioned in the 14th century by Charles IV and joins the Old Town with the Little Quarter. It is 520m long, could originally accommodate four carriages across and is touted in every tourist guide as ‘not to be missed’. Which made me desperately want to resist planning to see it. I know. It’s perverse.

On the evening of Day 1, I fell across it from a slightly down river vantage point. 

Remember the postcard shot from Prague Post Number 2?

Feeling distinctly unimpressed by the Bridge itself, I decided to spend Saturday (Day 2) exploring Prague Castle and surrounds (which could constitute a whole other post but I am unsure as to how much Prague overkill you will allow yourself to be subjected to). The views are absolutely stunning from the top and the Bridge even managed a cameo in one of several panorama shots.

The rooftops of Prague with Charles Bridge, Old Town Tower and on the horizon, the spires of St Ludmila’s

After several wonderful hours, I found myself descending to the cobbled streets of the Little Quarter where lo and behold, I fell across the Bridge again.

Charles Bridge Little Quarter Tower and entrance

There seemed nothing for it but to surrender to its call but as I passed through the archway, I noticed an ad for river cruises – weary and footsore by this stage, I was an easy mark for any seated distractions so I decided that this would be pleasant way to spend an hour. I even got a couple of Bridge shots in for good measure.

Charles Bridge before cruising beneath it…
…and after.
After the cruise had returned me to the shore, I did actually make it onto the Bridge but the Saturday crowds were out in force and it was not conducive to any sort of meandering or photo-taking. So I just went with the throng and made directly for the other side, determined to try again tomorrow.
Busy crowds heading for the Old Town on Charles Bridge

Tomorrow came all too quickly (as it always does when one is on holiday) and after spending a rather sobering morning in the Jewish Quarter, I ambled along more cobbled streets to find myself on the banks of the Vltava again but this time at the Manusov Bridge, a perfect vantage point for another go at capturing that other Bridge in all its glory.

View of Charles Bridge from Manusov Bridge
‘It’s my last day’, I thought to myself. ‘I cannot visit Prague having only had a cursory dash across’. And so began my purposeful stroll towards the Bridge’s Little Quarter Tower.
Others clearly had similar stirrings…

Charles Bridge Little Quarter – are we there yet?

But finally I found myself ON THE BRIDGE.

The triumphant Tower shot which means…
…I am finally standing on The Bridge – with elbow room to spare!

Leaning over the Bridge I could see crowds gathered for a puppet show in the square below…

…but let’s not get sidetracked. I am finally on The Bridge so let’s turn our attention to it!

The Bridge is famous for its ‘avenue’ of mostly baroque statues. There are MANY statues (well thirty actually which is quite a lot for any bridge), all in various stages of dis/repair. Frankly after the first few, I got a little bored with the details and did not photograph them – I managed three and the one below is the best of those. If you are more interested and want the full run down, you can click here.

The Bridge is also a central point for entertainers and stall holders eager to take a few crowns from gullible generous tourists – here are a few of my favourites:

Ingenuity Czech-style
This one was particularly cute
These guys drew quite a crowd and much applause after each number

 Before I knew it the arch through to the Old Town beckoned.

Charles Bridge Tower – Old Town

  And with the Bridge finally behind me, I snapped a picture of it’s namesake…

Statue of Charles IV in Knights of the Cross Square as you leave the Bridge

 …before turning to see the sign opposite.

Do you think they mean that infernal Bridge?

So that’s The Bridge post done and definitely dusted. If you are interested in checking out my previous Prague posts – and a big thank you to those of you that have – I’ve included a handy list below for you:

Prague Preview: Just A Peek
Prague…The Accidental Tourist (Trail)

They may just whet your appetite enough to inspire a visit.

Or not.

Prague Preview…Just A Peek

I went to Prague. Maybe I have mentioned this once or twice in my last two posts (which were about unrelated topics). This is what we in the marketing world call a teaser campaign, a (clever) strategy I employed while wondering madly how to organise all the photos (500+ – gulp!) I took. Suffice to say there is enough for a blog mini-series so what you are about to see is something akin to a trailer.

A short walk from the hotel – Namesti Miru and St Ludmila’s Church
The National Museum overlooking Wenceslas Square
Art Noveau at the Grand Europa Hotel
Hustling and bustling in the Old Town Square
Memorial candles at the Jan Hus monument

Gothic inspiration at St Vitus’s Cathedral 
Standing guard in Golden Lane
Enjoiyng the sunshine on Charles Bridge

If you enjoyed this short peek at Prague, stay tuned…

…there’s plenty more where that came from.

Top Marks For Top Girls…

I do like a bit of theatre. I used to subscribe to the MTC when I lived in Melbourne and when I arrived in London in 2004, I promised that I would immerse myself in all the theatrical delights that this great city had to offer. This happened for a little while (as far as my dwindling Aussie Dollars would stretch anyway) until life got in the way.

Seven years later, I have finally managed to rekindle the embers and, inspired by a cheap ticket to see Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead a few weeks ago (which, by the way, was fabulous), I have been keeping my eyes peeled for more special offers of the ‘treading the boards’ kind. And that was how my trip to see Top Girls last Wednesday came about.

Marlene has left her home town to explore the world and try her luck as a career girl in the 80s. The play opens with her at dinner with friends, celebrating her promotion to Managing Director of recruitment firm Top Girls. But this is not just any dinner – her friends are women from history:

Pope Joan, who disguised as a man, is said to have been pope between 854-856 
Isabella Bird, explorer
Dull Gret, the harrower of Hell
Lady Nijo, the Japanese mistress of an emperor and later a Buddhist nun
Patient Griselda, the patient wife from The Clerk’s Tale in Geoffrey Chaucer‘s Canterbury Tales

Statement hair, shoulder pads and much white wine abound and the dinner disintegrates into a quite ribald affair.

The rest of the play covers the period from about a year prior right up until the days following Marlene’s promotion and flicks back and forth from the life Marlene left behind, epitomised by that of her sister Joyce and her daughter Angie, to her high flying role at work. There’s a great sense of breaking into a man’s world in these latter scenes, particularly poignant when it is suggested that Marlene has stolen something (the promotion) from someone who ‘really needs it’ (a man).

I remember this as an under current when I started my career in the early 90s (although things had probably progressed a little since the days of Thatcher’s Britain and I was in Australia several thousand miles away). I also remember feeling quite p*ssed off at the slightly patronising tone of others in response to my ‘no marriage, no kids thank you ‘ mantra back in the day (and the tone didn’t really change until I got into my 40s).  It was extraordinary to have the opportunity to revisit this time in my life, some 20 years later.  How clear things become with 20-20 vision.

I often go along to plays without having any detailed knowledge of the story – I like the sense of discovery this creates rather than knowing what to expect and then having an opinion about whether it (the play) lived up to my expectation.

With Top Girls, this made the dinner scene a little confusing but as the play unfolded, the pennies dropped.

These women each represented different aspects of living in a ‘man’s world’ – whether it was Lady Nijo, who does not see the forced attentions of the Emperor as rape or Patient Griselda, who having promised to obey her husband, amiably forgives his cruelty in taking her children away from her – and the various conversations around the table served to highlight what was ‘expected of them’ as women in their various societies.

So Top Girls was thought-provoking and pithy (in parts), confronting and heart-warming and a great opportunity to revisit the era of Chardonnay and shoulder pads, when women struck another blow for equality, consequences and all.

I absolutely loved it.

If you are in London, you can see Top Girls at London’s Trafalgar Studios until October 29th. You should go peeps, really you should. You can click here to find out how.

You’ve got mail…16 sleeps to go

I staggered out of bed this morning to be greeted by a drizzly Saturday and have been faffing about (great word that, faffing) instead braving the elements and getting out to do the list of things I need to do.  This is also known as re-prioritising and is a very useful skill to have here in the UK, saving hours of damp trudging and allowing one to enjoy the soothing sound of the rain from a dry and comfortable vantage point at the front window.

But I digress.

My faffing meant that I was home when the postman arrived.  Nothing exciting really comes through the mailslot: just the usual assortment of bills to pay, flyers advertising things I could never imagine needing and To The Homeowner letters from local estate agents wishing to sell my little flat from underneath me.  But today was different.  As I whipped around, startled by the metallic clunk of the mail flap, I saw a flash of girly colour.

‘Pink!’, my little heart cried.  ‘Could it be…my first birthday card?’

And so it was.

Itinerant Father and Erstwhile Wife have won the Birthday Derby again, and although 2 days later than last year’s stirling effort, getting in with 16 sleeps to go can only be vigorously applauded.  (Sounds of wild cheering and me doing a little ‘Hooray it’s my birthday soon’ dance around my postage-stamp-sized lounge room).

The card (we are allowed to open birthday cards pre-special-day in the Hamer clan) is a testament to their continued concern about my welfare in a faraway land and featured some handy hints for me to consider in my advancing years:

An ode to ageing gracefully

May your bum stay firm and pert
May your boobies not head south
May your lippy never blend
Into thin lines round your mouth
May you eat a ton of chocolate
But never gain a pound
May you always look your best
Whenever Brad Pitt comes around.
May you never wear big pants
Or grow unwanted hair
And Birthday Girl if all else fails
May you be to sloshed to care!!

 

Well, don’t mind if I do!  And I have 16 days to plan how…

Dad & Bev, thanks for the birthday tip and the lovely wishes.

ps…for a little more detail on the Birthday Rules according to the Hamer clan, click here…my sister Lil Chicky sums it up so succinctly in her comment!

Expat: Born or bred?

On one of my especially long commutes home this week (3hrs!) I stumbled across a blog, Adventures in Expat Land by ‘accompanying wife’ Linda from The Netherlands.  As I sat on the top deck of the number 14 bus (having been ejected from King’s Cross Station after a ‘reported emergency’ with the rest of London’s peak-hour commuters and then walking 20mins to get on said bus), her post Seven Reasons Not To Become An Expat struck a chord…

It can be fun. And exciting, educational, eye-opening, energizing, amazing. It can also be uprooting, disruptive, alienating, challenging, lonely and just plain hard work.

I knew no-one here and had no job (just some leftover redundancy package money) but buoyed by fierce determination and an unrelenting belief that it was where I was meant to be, I packed up my comfortable Melbourne life and started again. Just like I did many times over as we moved up and down the east coast of Australia and around Melbourne, changing schools, jobs, friends, creating new habits and leaving the comfortable predictability of old ones.

But then so did my sister…who stays happily ensconced in Australia with not so much as a twinkle of expat life in her eye.

Which then leads me to wonder whether an expat is ‘born’ a nomad rather than being a product of their upbringing.  You know, nature vs nurture and all that.  Bit like a personality flaw trait.

So are expats actually born or bred?  And what’s the difference between those that up sticks and settle somewhere else vs the constantly relocating expatriate lifer?

Does anyone know?
ps…and if you even have a inkling that you might like to try on ‘expat life’, you should read Linda’s post for yourself by clicking here…or not…

The great bake-off sputters to life

It’s been 6 months between ‘bakes’ but my second foray has been a resounding success.

After returning from Australia having spent 2 weeks over Christmas with family and food in abundance, I have been waiting for a chilly Sunday afternoon to cook this delicious fruit cake for myself (I’ve decided baking is best on afternoons when it’s cold outside!)  And this last weekend was D-Day…

Mango Fruit Cake 1

Scrumptious, super-easy and no-added-sugar. Feel free to snaffle the recipe (below) for yourself. Believe me, your guests/ friends/ hangers-on will be impressed…

Bon Appetit!


Mango Fruit Cake recipe

8 sleeps to go…I want a pony

My lil’ sister (fondly known as Chicky) has had a tough week and it’s one of the times that living over here feels especially far away.  So in an effort to make her smile and to honour our special ‘Big-Chicky-to-Lil-Chicky’ relationship, this post captures some more of those defining moments from my childhood but in an ‘advice from a big sister’ kind of way:

I know you’re not sure what the cake with the little crib on it is all about…but smile anyway!

I know it’s your first birthday…but it’s good to share!

This Marching Girls caper is pretty easy…but you are supposed to be looking straight ahead, not chatting!

Oops…an elbow in the cake…don’t worry, it won’t be the first time.

I know it’s a birthday but should we be having THIS much fun in matching dresses?

And here’s the most important piece of advice of all…

Sisters always look out for each other

BTW, the Chicky-and-Husband parcel arrived last night and quite apart from the anticipation of opening my present on the 1st (strict family rule not to open one’s present until the birthday day itself), the card (family rule does not apply), as quite possibly the most appropriate card ever given to me, simply demonstrates how well she knows me…

8 sleeps to go people, 8 sleeps…can’t wait to ride my pony!