Friendships Are Made Of This…

There’s nothing like a special guest to make a new pad feel like home. Apart from the opportunity to welcome someone into your new space, it also makes you get your a*** into gear with that last little bit of unpacking. You know, the pile you have left in a corner and avoid making eye contact with, the half empty box you’ve been walking around while muttering ‘I must get around to doing that…’

Anyway, last night Gidday HQ played host to its very first guest – A-down-the-hill (the down-the-hill bit a reference to the place I lived before). The guest bed was made up, living room cushions plumped, cosy blankets draped over the couch (our friendship has a history of much ‘vino, cosy blankies and a movie’) and the place was all ready for her arrival.


Gorgeous house-warming flowers from A-down-the-hill.
The thistles are fitting – hubby is Scottish!

A-down-the-hill was my first ‘London’ friend. Fresh off ‘the boat’ in 2004 and with only her email address to guide me, our friendship has been a rock for me – ups and downs ‘n’ all – over the last eight years and outside Mum and Lil Chicky, she’s the person I feel closest to on the planet.

By the time this post is published, she will have featured a dozen times on Gidday from the UK, appearing the first time on the 29th June 2009 as ‘A’ in Muscles & a Minor Heatwave and most recently at my latest birthday bash, Pukka Picnic & Polo Ponies.

In between, there have been BBQs, baking, and bicycles. I’ve been a Hot Chick to her Hen, and an Emergency Handbag. We’ve been Ladies Who Lunch and we’ve even Kew-ed the Music together. She was also the one who inspired my Kindle-envy, culminating in my abandoning my bookish faith and embracing the pure, electronic loveliness of Audrey.

And she’s another Happy Little Vegemite and Australian Abroad, an enduring fellowship for those of us who’ve made it beyond the initial couple of years here to ‘settle’, whether by marriage (her) or by sheer bloody-minded declaration (me).

So, A-down-the-hill was my first guest, a fitting tribute to all sorts of new chapters we’ve seen each other through over these last eight, London years. And to welcome her last night to Fabulous Finchley was…

…well…

…fabulous.

ps…today we also hugged each other Merry Christmas as we said goodbye as we will not see each other again before the big day. This provided little ol’ moi with a timely reminder to let you all know that there are only 8 sleeps to go.

That’s right, we are down to single figures peeps. Are you ready?

Commuting Gems…No Kidding

Today I was flicking through my freebie copy of the Metro newspaper on my way into town for a meeting when I came across the ultimate ‘pampered pets’ story.

Some dude has decided to make his menagerie feel right at home…


Source: Metro.co.uk Image: Caters

Apparently it’s also inspired a Goats Do Roam range of vinos…

I kid you not.

Important ps:
By the way, there are only 10 sleeps to go now so enough of that sitting on the fence peeps -it’s time to make a play for the Naughty or the Nice list. Santa can’t wait forever and you know how I feel about creating your own destiny and all that…

Verulamian By Any Other Name..

Last Friday night I stayed in St Albans after our work Christmas Party and the following morning, my hostess with the most-ess took me on a little guided tour of this bustling market town 22 miles north of London.


St Albans Coat of Arms

St Albans started life as an Iron Age town called Verlamion (meaning settlement above the marsh) and following conquest by the Romans in 43 AD, was renamed Verulamian and grew to become the second largest town in Roman-occupied Britain (after Londinium of course). Sometime around 250 AD, the pagan-converted-to-Christian Alban was executed for his beliefs. Actually he was beheaded – there was nothing new about Henry VIII’s predeliction for offing heads. He was later named a saint (the first British Christian martyr) and a shrine built over the site of his execution following the adoption of Christianity into the Roman empire by the Emperor Constantine. And so St Albans was born.

Market Place, St Albans

Saturday is market day in St Albans so it was first a wander amongst the stalls lining Market Place.

Before long, we turned into a covered alleyway, much like the Block and Royal arcades in Melbourne, and emerged to see the Church and Abbey of St Alban basking in the wintery sunshine.

Source: allaboutstalbans.co.uk

A reverent stroll around inside revealed an awe-inspiring array of history, architecture and restoration works – if you click here, Robin from St Albans Blog has taken some magnificent photos of the interior.

Ye Olde Fighting Cocks
Source: Wikipedia

We emerged back into the winter sunshine and set out down the park towards our lunch destination, the oldest pub in Britain, Ye Olde Fighting Cocks.

It started life as a pigeon house near the Abbey before being dismantled and rebuilt in its current location as The Round House. The foundations of this building date from about 793 AD and in 1800, it was renamed to reflect the popularity of its main attraction, cockfighting – that is until it was banned in 849 AD. There’s even a glass case containing a large black cockerel above the door as you enter the low-beamed dining room. (For the record, I had a butternut squash and swiss chard bake which was really delicious and perfect for such a chilly winter’s day.)

Source: allaboutstalbans.co.uk

With the magnificent Verulamian Park just across the bridge (over the River Ver), we took a brisk and chilly stroll around the part-frozen lake and climbed the hill to view the hypocaust and mosaic. The building looks a little like a toilet block from afar so if it hadn’t been for my local guide, I may never have bothered with this.

By this time, I needed to head back for the train (silly old me had booked a Sainbury home delivery for 4pm thinking I would be home in plenty of time instead of playing tourist in St Albans). So up the hill we trudged again, this time through the Monastery Tower (which has been a prison in its life amongst many other things), back into town, past the Clock Tower (erected by the town to symbolise its independence from the church, including the setting of its own curfew) and parted ways with me off to the train station for the trip back to London, feeling very satisfied with my impromptu day out into one of England’s most important historic towns.

Strictly Heartstopping…

Every so often I experience something that affects me so deeply, I just cannot get it out of my mind.

Settling in last night with a bit of Ben & Jerry’s, I was all ready to be entertained and uplifted (to a degree) by my regular Saturday night double dose of guilty pleasure, Strictly Come Dancing and X Factor.

But not like this.

After nine amazing performances on last night’s Strictly, this happened:

I was mesmerised. Absolutely spellbound. For the whole 90 seconds, I think I actually stopped breathing.

I kept seeing it over and over in my head all night, despite the brilliant performances on the X Factor Final (part one) that followed.

It was the first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning. And just to double-check I wasn’t imagining it all, I watched it again before posting – twice.

My heart still skipped a beat.

Exciting. Aggressive. Passionate. Uncompromising.

I have nothing further to say on the matter.

ps…oh wait, hang on. I need to let you know that there are only 14 sleeps before Christmas is upon us. That’s only 14 shopping days left so chop chop peeps. You don’t want to be late!

Bet You Thought I Forgot…

It’s been a busy time here at Gidday HQ and with the end of the year fast approaching, there has been a notable absence of a tradition that has no doubt left long-time Gidday-ers breathing a sigh of relief wondering what has happened.

But fear not.

As I walked through London mid November, the lights were up in Regent and Oxford Streets.

Last weekend I braved London’s Southbank Market to do a little inspired present shopping.

Mum’s annual cross-the-miles Advent Calendar arrived last week in plenty of time.

This year’s theme is The Nutcracker and instead of chocolates or gifts, each window contains a little booklet which tells a part of the story.

Today, the Gidday tree went up and got all adorned with the trinkets from my travels (note to self: if one wants to travel next year and collect more bright, shiny objects, buy a bigger tree)…

…and the Christmas paper has been unearthed from its new home following last week’s frenzy of post-Freecycle nesting.

So my festive spirit has risen from the dust and left-over packing boxes to announce

there are just 20 sleeps to go until Christmas!

I’ll bet you thought I forgot.

The Silent Letter…

One of the things any Australian coming to the UK feels assured of is the ability to speak the language. You know, to communicate, be understood, that kind of thing. And after almost eight years here, despite some early faux pas (the use of words like pants and thongs come to mind), I don’t find myself thinking twice about the way I speak.

However, working for a global business, I am surrounded by colleagues whose first language is not English. My team mate is French and a close colleague who sits across the partition from me is Turkish. Within a couple of desks away are three Germans so by the time you add the erstwhile Aussie to the mix, the locals represent less than 50% of the seating arrangements in our area. 
There’s often much hilarity as sayings go a bit awry with regularity. We’ve had the dog barking at the wrong door (vs up the tree), don’t let the bugs bite (the bed just went amiss), cookie (vs brownie) points and my personal favourite, a ‘one pony trick’ which leads the mind in a significantly different direction from the one trick pony!

But on the train home today, I was reminded what a real minefield the ‘English’ language can be, particularly when it comes to place names.

It’s not just the longer prefixes to the shires that trip one up on this green isle – I mean how do you get ‘wooster’ from Worcester – or the fact that words tend to dribble away here as opposed to the emphasis-on-every-syllable pronunciation employed by my lot (eg. Bir-ming-ham rhymes with ‘I eat SPAM’). 

It’s the presence of a letter.  A letter that just sneaks in there, quiet as you like. And upsets the natural order of things.

The letter ‘W’.

It’s a dastardedly affair. The ‘W’ sound is happy to lead off, loud and proud, at the beginning of a word – Walthamstow, Windsor, Worthing are fine examples. 

But the rules seem to differ when that little ‘w’ ensconces itself right in the middle of things. So Southwark is pronounced ‘Suthick’ (vs my fresh-off-the-boat South-walk all those years ago), Harwich is pronounced ‘Harrich’…

…and today, I automatically corrected my collègue français’ Flitwick – without skipping a beat – to ‘Flittick’.

My family keep telling me I sound more and more English every time I speak to them.

I think they may be right.

A Liverpudlian Tipple…

I was in Liverpool for work last week (yes I know, this Gidday Gal’s been getting around a bit of late) and as part of the conference agenda was a Brewery Tour.

What? I hear you say. No Fab Four tour?

No, but ours was a magical mystery tour of a completely different kind.

Cains Brewery was started by young Irish immigrant, Robert Cain who bought his first pub in Limekiln Street, Liverpool at the tender age of 24. In 1858, just eight years later, Cain’s hard work enabled him to buy the site on the corner of Stanhope Street where his brewery still stands today – and is the site of our tour.

Twenty-five years later, Robert Cain was one of the wealthiest and most influential businessman in Liverpool, having built over 200 pubs Mersey-side (and a palatial mansion for himself) as well as a reputation for exceptional quality. Of beer I mean. I can’t speak for any of his other predelictions.

In 1887, the year of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee, Cain began work on the red brick brewery and ornate tower that still in use today (I can attest to this personally) and remains a Liverpool landmark and upon his death in 1907 (at the age of 81) more than 3,000 mourners attended this ‘adopted local’ lad’s funeral.

But it’s been a checkered past for Cain’s. During the 1900s, the brewery changed hands 5 times. A merger with Walkers of Warrington in 1911 saw the newly formed business become one of Britain’s top 50 companies by 1918. Then in 1923, the Stanhope Brewery was sold to Higson’s. – Cain’s continued to flourish until Higson’s sold out to Boddington’s of Manchester in 1985. The company then faced a further change of ownership 5 years later as Boddington’s divested its breweries to Whitbread who then closed the landmark brewery. In 1990, the site was reopened by The Danish Brewery Group who renamed it Robert Cain & Co Ltd but despite brewing a popular Liverpudlian pint, in 2002 the business found itself on the brink of closure.

The current owners, the Dusanj brothers, were inspired by the ethos and tradition of Robert Cain & Company and believing that success could not only be found for the product in Liverpool but around the world, mounted a rescue operation. Under their stewardship, Cains now brews more than 120 million pints a year and is one of the fastest-growing brewers in the country.

One of the innovations brought to market by the brothers is Cain’s Fine Raisin Beer which has won a few awards including Winner of Tesco’s Autumn Beer Challenge in 2003, “Beer of the Festival” at the 2004 Liverpool CAMRA Festival and “World’s Best Fruit Beer” at the World Beer Awards in 2007.

So I tried it – well it seemed rude not to – and quite liked it. Although it does not taste like raisins. Whether this is good or bad, I will leave you to decide.

In true immigrant-made-good fashion, Robert Cain had become a legendary brewmaster, married the Liverpool Lord Mayor’s daughter (he’s a mover and shaker that one) and was enobled as Lord Brocket (although what he would have made of his great-great grandson’s antics on I’m a Celebrity… in 2004 we’ll never know!).

Photo courtesy of officialpubguide.com

The Brewery is open to the public for tours and apart from the history lesson, you get to see how all that lovely beer is made and then get yourself a little tipple or two on the house at the The Brewery Tap which adjoins the brewery.

Not bad for £7.99 eh? 

Sigh…I love my job!

The Best Things In Life Are Free…

This weekend I was determined that Gidday HQ would take a little more shape in all areas – not just the relatively finished kitchen and living room – but in order to do this I needed to find a way to get rid of the 45 odd flattened boxes from my move a month ago (plus 5 filled with packing paper – never let it be said I am a wasteful girl!)

Enter Freecycle.

The Freecycle Network is a non-profit organisation that allows people to offer and find things FOR FREE. Started in Arizona in 2003 the aim was to create a worldwide network of ‘gifting’ groups to divert reuseable items from being sent to landfill. Since then, Freecycle has grown to more than 8 million members across almost 5,000 communities and operates under the mantra ‘changing the world one gift at a time’.

And what a gift it turned out to be. At around 5.30pm Saturday, I registered as part of my local Freecycle Group (that’s Barnet, if you must know) and posted my OFFER of 50-ish packing boxes/paper.

It is now 5pm on Sunday. From the 8 contacts who professed interest via the network, 3 visited Gidday HQ over the course of this afternoon to avail themselves of My Free Stuff.  I have 3 flattened garment boxes left. In the meantime, I have unpacked and found homes for much other stuff and moved furniture between rooms all in the space afforded me by the departure of said boxes.

So Gidday HQ is really taking shape. I feel so productive and exhausted and happy, I almost don’t know what to do with myself. Almost…I can hear last night unfinished bottle of Grenache Blanc calling from the fridge…

Anyway, props to Freecycle and a bit of community spirit. Both now up there amongst my favourite Fab Finchley discoveries.

To find out more about The Freecycle Network in the UK, you can just click here. There are also links to Freecycle in other countries on the landing page and if there’s not, there’s even a link to start your own group. 

See how super easy it is?  What a community-minded soul I am becoming…wonder what it is I’ll find out about next?

Fabulous Finchley…Misty-eyed

Last weekend it was time to do a little more exploring of the new ‘hood so I decided to wander down to Victoria Park just a 10 minute stroll away. 

The park was proposed by Henry C Stephens to commemorate Queen Victoria’s Jubilee in 1887 and was finally opened in 1902, a year after her death. It’s not a large park and it’s kind of set back from the street and tucked away behind the lawn bowls club but it was originally part of Colby Farm where Charles Dickens penned parts of Martin Chuzzlewit – or so the sign says – so there’s a touch of literary significance as well.

So I wandered around for about an hour, pausing to snap gorgeous pic after gorgeous pic. Bear in mind as you look at these that it was about midday when I arrived!

Amazing misty sun photo – I was stoked when this pic turned out!
Entering though the Ballards Lane gate
Trees in the mist
Following the winding path
Rooms with a view
An avenue of trees through the centre of the park
Tennis anyone?

Is the fog starting to lift?
A place to rest
The local cafe and the place to book your tennis court

Backlit by the sun
The sun finally comes out and reveals brilliant Autumn colour

How wonderful it is to find so much inspiration just around the corner. I can’t wait to explore a little more.

I also have to pause for a shout out to HTC. All of those photos were taken with my phone and it’s getting increasingly difficult to justify taking my camera anywhere with quality pics like this!

Until next time peeps…

Axis of Awesome…Funny Dudes

A couple of months ago, I was asked by some friends whether I wanted to see Axis of Awesome with them.

“Who?” I asked, handing over my ticket money in the belief that I could trust said friend’s taste.

(Failing that, it would just be a great opportunity to catch up with some friends I hadn’t seen in a while.)

Axis of Awesome are an Australian (yes, let’s get that out there right now – never let it be said I am unsupportive of my native countrymen) comedy band who, unbeknownst to me, are something of a Youtube sensation. They specialise in the ridiculous and this tour brings their silly songs (their words not mine) and Aussie banter to the stage across Europe. Well Germany, The Netherlands, Ireland and the UK anyway.

It’s a blend of cleverness and irreverence that had the audience, including moi, rolling in the aisles.  I wanted to capture the hilarity provoked by the show for you but it was hard to choose one thing – there was Bird Plane, How To Write A Love Song and Can You Hear The ****** Music Comin’ Out Of My Car – but the one that has made them stars the world over, thanks to the wonders of Youtube, is the 4 Chords Song.

Based on the premise that a large proportion of music is based on the same 4 chords, their original sketch has attracted over 20million hits on Youtube since 2009:

They have re-released this with new songs added which was featured in Thursday night’s show so you can click here if you want to see their latest video.

These are some funny, funny dudes so if you enjoy a good belly laugh, you should get along to see them while they’re touring Europe (OK Germany, Holland, Ireland and UK) or catch them when they get back to Oz. You can find show dates by going to their official website www.axisofawesome.net or by clicking here.

In the immortal words of Ian ‘Molly’ Meldrum (the Australians reading this will get this reference), do yourself a favour!