An Australian take on Frogs legs

No seriously today is culture and learning in an easy to read style. Captain Cook was ‘ere

 

Banks, the flora and fauna fetishist, ancestor of previously referred to wall artist, is noted on a piece of stone here

Junior decides to tell me about the most poisonous spider in the world which we encounter in the craft shop. It looks like a daddy long legs ……but it has no teeth so can’t bite SO how did they find out then?

Did I mention we were looking for fish and chips, via the most famous...... erm one of the most famous….ok most deserted beaches in the world.

Bondai in a force 10 gale requires shelter in the members only Iceberg Club, they appear to belong to the same Barmy bu…g..r swimmer's club in which P is enrolled.

We are possessed to take a look at a strange tower in the distance, afar.

The last time I had such a glamorous picture taken I had made my way up from a not a very deep part of this (head for the bottom). Minutes aftre this shot I was Texas tumbleweed as the wind blew me back down the hill, like a toddler gaining momentum before crashing to the floor except I hit  a bank of grass...vertically. 

To regain our equilibrium and because it is very close to the fish and chip shop of the year, Junior decided to take us here, seems all that sunshine doesn't necessarily stop the extreme glums, every two yards are notices to call Samaritans,  there is a choice of sides. Yes we are at the most popular suicide spot.

I need comfort food....but due to inclement weather the chipshop is shut. So where shall we go instead. Junior has been itching for us to sample his other culinary obsession and  we find ourselves are slap bang in the centre of Sydney in a little resturant owned by a multinational husband and wife team who are doing nothing to help foreign relations between  Indonesia and Malaysia.

I have a rule... I can't eat food that looks ugly and having seen this crustacean in its raw state I'm not sure dropping it in boiling water and giving it the sauce equivalent of a paper bag is going to make any difference.  I pick a rice dish, Junior proceeds not to pick his favourite dish but something entirely different.  We watch domestic harmony play out ...as he complains to his friend that she is miserable as he sits there and she runs round the customers like a blue arsed f..y.  I'll hold him while she hits him with the frying pan. But IT arrives, soft shell crab deep fried in breadcrumbs,  a valiant attempt to mask its visage but it still has 6 legs. Junior pleads and pleads for me to try it even resorting to eyelash fluttering and the "Just for me" I remember him using when trying to persuade me to commit the sacrilegious act of pouring gravy on my fish and chips ...I never wavered then. Submission was close but I happened to glance up just as 3 of its legs were protruding from P's mouth  and it was all I could do not to produce my own version of sticky rice.

Time for bed.

Sunday and the weather is more promising. Junior is still on a mission for a bit of home so we set off for

 

Taking in the glorious coastline…

 

If it wasn’t for the sunshine I would have said they have built a bypass round Bempton

And here we are for the best fish and chips 3,000 miles outside of Scarborough, North Yorkshire, England…with two guys building up a hunger….

 

We walk in to be told there’s a bit of a wait as the back up generators have to be used because a storm knocked all the electric out. Having failed dismally at my previous gourmet adventure, I go exotic -  barramundi and chips (no patty or mushy peas). Meanwhile mad maxes of the jet ski world lose control of their bikes. One is in lucky and the motor is retrieved, the other causes chip butties to pause between newspaper and gob as it gets “washed” into the rocks about 16 times. Mad max 1 spends the next hour trying alternately to save his treasure  and not get squashed by it.

We should probably get some exercise

 

But then a swell gets up. P would like to go in but I am worried that any residual chip fat will mean I slip though my rubber ring.

 

As we head for home via the main street which seems to be the only exit available we find that the blow out at the chippie is only the half of it.

There is a Fire service sign just before the next picture which said “Be storm ready”. This is the fire service’s home

Due to every ice ceram shop also being knocked out we have to make nn ice cream stop on the way back  And quote of the day as I take this pic

 

- Do we look gay in this??

Rabbitor meets Rufus

A day in the Paramatta district and we start with urban culture as personified in this Banksie homage.

 

Then we "step up"

 

On our way to the train station P remembers as a 17 year old apprentice in short overalls and hairnet, being sent by a supervisor for a set of these and a short stand.

 

I revert to being 6 again, because our trip means we are sitting atop a double decker train, the same enthusiasm climbing the no n14 bus stairs come flooding back.

In order to get here

 

Where I learn "sportsmanship" is universal; but a little history to set the scene:

Hull Kingston Rovers stadium, a rugny league match

-          Ref I think you might be looking at the match through rose tinted spectacles

In the 10 bleems it takes for me for me to absorb the phrase and think "Wow" that's a first, no swear words and such a delicate metapho.

However the utterer of said phrase is also thinking, and shouts more vehemently,

-       YA BASTARD!

Shift to the present:

Sydney Rabbitors playing Illuwhahahahahahaha Dragons (or something like).

P struggles with the notion of a bunny rabbit for a rugby team emblem and come on you have to admit running out on the pitch after this is hardly going to fill the opposition with dread

 

Especially when the opposition's mascot is really scary.........

But then P’s Hull KR mascot goes by the name of Rufus and ....

 

Anyway where was I, ah yes, Rabbitors have 3 players of the same Burgess family which means ice cream and Beverley, East Yorkshire to me but the boys come from Leeds. Apparently Russell Crowe spotted them during a location hunt for Gladiator when the Sat nav accidentally sent him to the Leeds Corn Exchange.

So play gets underway, with all the expectant rough, tumble, joshing and jolly japes. Behind me is North Sydney’s answer to Alf Garnett, sporting a flag to cover the entire state of New South Wales….it’s that big that whenever he attempts to wave it his mates have to grab hold of his shirt to stop him tipping into the cheap seats.

Youngest Burgess manages a neck high tackle on a dragon player which elicits from Alf :

-       Rip the Pommie bastard’s head off

See what I mean about the universality...

We, plus three hitherto unnoticed Warrington fans, slide down into our seats in case the flag pole is to become a pike.

So have you guessed where it is yet? Ok here’s a great big clue - zoom in and read the words.

Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree

The last day of the mammoth trip begins with 3 hours driving through charred forests with the odd snatch of greenery which reminds us of similar trips in the southern US. The road seems interminable and at 2 pm P hears the call of Ulladulla and I instantly have this in my head, as you do.  With the urge to swim in the sea for the last time we pootle on in and I take one look at this and think Carmel 2008, grit, tweezers..and the rest.

 

 

Twenty yards to the right we have this

 

 



And 20 yards to the left  - the mist off the surf

...not a chance; I'll play the admiring wimp with her camera. If you move the scroll bar quick enough it's almost an action movie...I have a highly alliterative film title ...........

Baywatch and the Barmy bu..g..r.

Ursula Undress eat you heart out.

As he emerges from the waves two surfers pass by:

- You wonting the husband's inshoorance?

I look perplexed.

- The surf is very dayngeroos today.

The rain sets in and Flipper has to stop, but not before the high class change of clothes in the public car park and frightening himself to death when half of Niagara Falls cacscades from his nose onto the back seat of the car; and who said romance is dead.

As we leave Ulladulla memories flood back...Witham, Hull,  circa 1971, dad burning rubber on his Honda 50 , me riding shotgun,Jungle Book sticker skid lid bobbling about on my head, checking for PC Jobsworth who might book us for blazing a trail for Banksie with the tin of ice white Dulux that has just fallen off the back making the speed limit on the road into twentybleah miles.

3 hours later Bonnie and Flipper, who is feeling the effects equivalent to having Giant Haystacks administer a sports massage, roll up at the more sedate surroundings of the Royal National Park. And we appear to be in the midst of the most exhibitionist wildfowl , the cutest of which we believe to be

But then this little fellow hollers down and teases us at 10 feet

 

 

Becomes positively coquettish at 4 feet away

…indulge me

There's another 10 and I deleted 10 that were blurry through excitement.
 

 

The farthest you can get from Christian generosity and his five loaves and fishes

And as day sidles in to evening we need another place to stay and so the usual twice round the high street of the nearest town yields another Butlin's style motel.

Getting bored waiting for Phil to complete the booking I become fascinated by the way the trees grow

And the way the bark sits around them. They reminded me of this.
Indulge me...

Anyway to more grown up things. 20 minutes had gone and I needed a wee so going in search of P I find the host regaling him with stories of having visited the Isle of Man to participate in the TT Races in 1972..

I was instantly enamoured by the references to her indoors and the little woman, who turned out to be the second little woman, so beat a hasty retreat to the room with a mock Crown Derby thimble covered by a doily (?) which constituted our milk ration. The post war theme continued with the room inspection which had all the mod cons including a trapdoor in the wall which the camp commandant can open in the morning to slide your breakfast gruel and glass of water onto the stylish melamine sideboard. P knows how to treat a girl.

P regales the tale of walking into the place and signing the registration form to which mein host responds:

- Never had yoo down for a Pom...yoo're the raaawng colla! You aint got no woyte folk back in Larndun now...just the "OTHERS"......droyving raaaand in BMWs and drippin with gold. "THEY" are still poor heeya.

P thought he'd fallen into an episode of Bless This House - the unexpurgated version.

I'm thinking must be a while since he's been to Sydney to check out the "Whoyte" population numbers - he'd have apoplexy ...with a bit of luck.

Right dinner time...and what delights await us in this enlightened cosmopolitan metropolis...well. How's about this for a fish and chip shop setting; there is a landing sticks out into the lake with a canopy over it and you just watch the sun go down.

 

 

 

In the absence of recognising any other name on the menu, except salmon,  P enquires of the fryer as the nature of the white fish, which she just takes as a request and so I get white fish and chips. We also wished we had known it was BYOB so we could have added an air of sophistication to the the shark and chips...and the "OTHER"'s kids jumping off the the jetty.

 

Traveller's note  1: if the name on the board is white fish then it's shark.

Traveller's note 2: if you have a hang up about eating ugly food and the name implies it might be ugly then check out the entire fish population before going to said country.

 

The following morning the cockateals wake us and we pass on the gruel and step up our game eating bran flakes from a cup. We had hoped to sneak out and drop the key through a slot in the door but the President of the Society for Racial Harmony was waiting to inform us how much his business was worth and how he only made a profit for the tax man of $6 a year.

 

And to the grand finale:

 

We are joined by his erm.... Bosnian wife of whom he asks permission to tell us a joke..prefaced with:

 

-"Yooo're not relijus are yoo? How de yoooo feel about Muslims......."

And there endeth the lesson with more tyre rubber left on the forecourt than the starting grid, Isle of Man circa 1972. We're off to look for more human dinosaurs.

Like buses the world over

Okay Day 7 into our antipodean adventure and 2,300 km and Kanga and Roo have been conspicuous by their absence and we are on the way back to Syd and Junior, wending our way up new bits of the coast.

But first some high drama in Cann River where they serve morning coffee in 3 cafes within spitting distance of each other. Memories of another road trip in North east America come to mind, right down to the body hanging from the balcony....Miss Kitty ain't gonna look out of place here.

As the welcoming committee plan for the next stage coach to arrive in 2016....we are lazily sipping our coffee when a siren goes off and we sit bolt upright, searching for the nearest gas cupboard or upturned bath, expecting the wind to whip up and sky go dark. The lack of reaction is eery, so we sit and we sit and then out of the cafe comes the coffee mate and we ask what's going on....

-Thad'll be a bush foya warning

Then sits to sup his coffee with a silent "Yup".

That's ok then, Corporal Jones clearly not required to galvanise the troops. The siren goes off and 10 minutes later 2 fire engines and assorted fire troopers fresh as daisies with not a care in the world jump out to collect their orders...not a word said. Now I Know these siren efforts are loud but I can't believe that this one hailed from the Northern Territories....

That's laid back Stralia for yooo.

Back on the road I am being hypnotised as I scour the bush and as we hit  another suburbia I have nodded. Brakes screech and my head comes within a  whichitee grubs whisker of the dashboard and P is shouting (quite loudly for him) "Kangaroos, kangaraoos"!.

And where did it say in the book of Noah

"And forsooth when yon floods have passed God told me I should shut set down the bouncy thing with the boxing mitts near the 16th hole!"

And not just one, but a whole posse

I am off on one, trying to outstrip my last record of 70 koala pictures in under 20 minutes....

But the head honcho gets to his feet...Jesus, look at the pecks on that!

But then he decides I am too close for comfort ...I am actually about 20 yards away with my telescopic zoom but too close for him clearly, and the expression is so..."Bugger off you kangaroo paparazzi"

Then there is a huff sound and I am back in the car examining the dashboard again.

But just one last sneak of Roo even though he isn't taking his medicine:

 

 

Everybody say "Aw" bearing in mind he might grow up to look like his dad.

 

 

Rola koala

And the first thing to posses me is to swim in Port Campbell Bay again, having been lulled into a false sense of security the day before but

........the water was freezing!

The original plan had been to get as far as Port Fairy but we figured it was a bit too far and anyway P had rounded off the night before by wowing me even more with a trip to Peterborough so I was good. And anyway I hadn't endured 24 hours in cattle class not to see koalas and the brosshure in our motel was sure if you went to Cape Otway lighthouse you would see the big k along the way. My eyes were already on stalks having scoured the horizon for the last 1750 kilometres. So we pootle along for quite a long time and yes the trees are the right trees; they only live in 1 type which is the one they eat from so they do not have far to travel since sleeping 18  hours is exhausting.

I am begining to lose faith but then there is a huddle of human bodies in the middle of the road hopping and gesticulating and grinning, so we park up, a little more responsibly and boom

And in to the bargain looking straight ahead which noone else does is a little bonus, though they refused to look at the lens.

Anyway the koala is one of about 15 once you get your eye in but the rest are not as active as Bradley Wiggins above ... and how can you believe they feel and smell like a toilet brush (junior's words not mine). 

I believe this one is weighed down by the knowldege that his/her kith and kin is dying out due to loss of environment and chlamydia (surprised me too!)

 

 

This is 3 of about 45 I took, many had to be deleted as a full lens extension, pointing upwards and shaking with excitement led to some blurring.

 

We proceed on to the lighthouse and in my enthusiasm I do a Del boy into a pot hole.

 

Heading back up the Great Ocean Road in the sunshine

 

 

To our next night's rest, in the working  port of Lake's Entrance or was it Lake Sentrance

 

 

and another glorious sunset

 

 

 

 

 

with swans obliging in the shaft of light