Explore with Fran

Join me on the journey as I travel, eat, and drink my way around the world

Top 9 things to learn before coming to Australia…(from the archives)

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This is an old post, but a good one to revisit.

About living in Sydney…

Having just passed my 4 year anniversary of living in Australia, I thought it very timely to write about the things they don’t tell you in the glossy brochures.  Or at the fancy work expos for working down under.  Or that you don’t find out from other friends living here.

Australia is a fantastic place to live.  I love Sydney.  Every day I am reminded of how lucky I am to be here, passing the glorious Opera House on my daily commute, the sun reflecting off the harbour, with the famous green and gold ferries bringing in commuters to the city. But you know me well enough now to realise I can also find something to gripe about.  Find the cloud in the silver lining.  And here are my top gripes.  At least for this month.

1.  Having to do your personal tax return every year.  By law.  And for the last couple of years, still getting a hefty tax bill.  Despite paying (what you think is the right levels of tax) each month direct from your employer.  How do you work that one out?  Medicare levies.  Surcharges.  Blah blah blah.  Stop.  It is not going to change anything.  But I can still complain about it.

2.  Despite a country renowned for its weather, and love of the outdoors, there a surprisingly few (very few) beer gardens.  How disappointing is that?  Mr Sunshine comes out on another glorious summers day, and you want to have a refreshing cold pint of beer, al fresco.  I still look back very fondly on such sunny days, sat out the back of Dicey’s bar in Dublin, having a few ice cold Magners.  Instead, you are stuck indoors, the sounds of pokies ringing in your ear, and being blasted by sub zero temperature air conditioner units.  Or so it feels.

3.  Football.  Oh god.  Now you have got me started.  You have to either give up your love of the beautiful game, or resign yourself to very late nights, And/or very early mornings.  And going to work bleary eyed after a mid week feature, yet again putting the scousers to the sword.  Ok, ok, less so in recent years.  But now we have the Special One, teamed up again with the Special Juan.  And the good times are coming back.  I can just feel it.

4.  They call “rugby” football.  And also, some other game, played by men in vests and shorts that were fashionable in the 1980s, in Melbourne, gets called football.  It is very confusing.  The world game is football.  The one actually played with your feet.  The one with the egg, the niche sport, is played with the hands.  And is rugby.  Or Aussie Rules.  Or League.  Strewth.  I can’t keep up.

5.  It rains.  It rains a lot.  More than London.  Here is an actual fact.  Well, if you can believe what you read on Wikipedia.  I didn’t get time to get to the State Library to check the official records from the Bureau of Meteorology.  The annual rainfall in Sydney through 2015 was 1337mm.  This compared to London of 594mm.  There should be a salary supplement just to buy umbrellas as they seem to blow inside out so often in the gales that whip through Sydney CBD.  And woe betide if you don’t wear the right footwear to work, or you will be sitting with wet feet all day.

6.  People are always “looking after you”.  Despite making it to adulthood in one piece, it seems you can’t be trusted to look after yourself in Sydney.  So people are employed to do it for you.  Take a trip to the football as an example.  You and your mates want a beer?  Let’s hope there are not more than four of you.  Otherwise you will need a chaperone to go and actually buy the drinks.  The thing is, you can only buy four drinks at once.  So no buying in rounds.  This is to protect you from getting drunk.  Yes, just like when you were back in school, and the teachers were looking out for you.  Sydney is so kind to continue this service well into adulthood.  Even if the bar person can see your 5, or 6, or 7 other mates.  Right besides you.  Oh no no no.  Far too dangerous.  You have to get one of your other mates to stand at the side of you, get their own money out, and buy any beers that exceed your quota.  I kid you not.  This has actually happened.

7.  Whilst I am on drink, as it’s a good subject, Sydney seems to be regressing in to a nanny state.  Lots has been written about Sydney lock out laws, and how they are having a negative affect on the city’s nighttime vibrancy, so I won’t touch on that.  But, just try and order a whisky past a certain time.  Neat you say?  You want your whisky neat?  Oh no.  We can’t be having you behaving like a lout.  You are likely to get drunk and punch the nearest person if you do that.  A much better idea would be to spoil your 16 year old Lagavulin single malt with a dash of cola.  And not just any old cola, but roller cola.  Surely.  There’s a good boy.

8.  Bouncers.  All of this is if you can even get past the bouncers, who are a different breed in Sydney.  On a night out, you will be stopped and asked, “have you been drinking tonight?”.  How do you answer that ludicrous question?  With a straight face?  “Oh no, we have all just come out tonight, round all these busy, noisy pubs, drinking water.  It seemed the most fun thing to do.”  What you actually do is quickly, mentally make a decision on what is the “right” number of drinks to have had by 10pm.  Apparently “four” is the wrong answer.  As I have found out to my detriment.  Things reached the nadir when one pal was asked to leave 3 pubs in one night, for being inebriated.  Funny thing was, he looked markedly sober compared to some of the other people in the pub.  But, we were in an Irish bar I suppose.  Imagine the ignominy of being asked to leave an Irish bar for being drunk.

9.  This last one is not a gripe.  It’s a labor of love.  Burgers, and the analysis of.  Yes.  There really is a spreadsheet.  It all started as a Burger Off, with colleagues.  A bit of fun, with fellow burger loving friends.  Until Sydney took over, and burger loving became very hip and fashionable.  So typical of Sydney.  Now, there are probably as many places selling all varieties of burgers, as there are Facebook groups extolling the virtues of each.  Something I saw last week just captured the zeitgeist perfectly.  Ladies and gentlemen, I leave you with the Pokeman burger.  I am out of words.

 

Fran versus food

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I have never been an advocate of diets.  Too short-term-ism thinking.  As though your health is a mini goal to be achieved.  It is much better to become a jerf.  No, not a jerk.  Somebody who “just eats real food”.  Do this.  With the right portion sizes.  Keep active.  Sleep well, and for the right durations (for you), and let nature do the rest.
If I ever needed proof that this was as “scientific” as it got, the 4 weeks prior to the recent holiday provided it.  In spades.
The Body Coach, 90 day plan.  Shift, shape, and sustain, each in a 4 week cycle.  The first cycle completed before heading off to the land of food.  Where the unofficial motto is “go big, or go home”.
Initially, I was skeptical.  Firstly, of the amount of food that you can actually eat.  But also, the cost of it.  Good food isn’t’ cheap.  Let’s not start on the opportunity cost.  Of spending most of my waking hours trawling around supermarkets for obscure ingredients, such as kinowa.  What?  That is not how you pronounce it?  Silly me.  Quinoa (keen-wah), the magical grain of the Andes in South America.
However, all that aside, I soon stopped complaining once the magic started happening.  Week 1 done.  Good sized portions of food consumed, with regular high intensity training sessions, and the kilos started falling away.  Four weeks in, and on the cusp of the overseas trip, 4 kilos had been shed.  Just like that.  As I say, magic.
Now it was time to throw it all out of the window, and binge of some of the world’s best comfort foods.
1.    Burger – Stout  (Santa Monica Boulevard, Los Angeles)

I could write on and on about burgers.  Believe me, I could.  Limiting it to just one was difficult.  So I have gone for the very first one we had on the trip.  Which was as good as anything else we had the 3 weeks we were away.  Yes, I finally got to try the famous Californian chain of “In-N-Out”, which I loved.  But they were more a fast food style cheese burger.  Whereas the ones at Stout we more substantial.  Gourmet burgers.  Thick juicy, homemade patties.  In a soft brioche bun.  Washed down with a local craft beer.  A heavenly start to the trip.




2.  Clam chowder – Chowder Hut Grill (Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco)
This is my second visit to the Chowder Hut Grill.  The first being over 10 years ago.  And I had the exact same dish.  Second time around?  Amazing.  Even better than I had remembered it to be.  The clam chowder was delicious, with a hint of spice.  And the sourdough bread bowl holds up well whilst you eat the chowder, but then is soft enough to break up when you have finished, to enjoy with the residual chowder.  This is not the fanciest of places, but the chowder speaks for itself.







3.  Fish Tacos – Cheryl’s on 12th (1135 SW Washington, Portland)
If you want to try fish tacos anywhere in Portland, try them at Cheryl’s.  You won’t be disappointed.  The fish portions were immense.  And the salsa probably one of the best I have had.  That’s before I start on the guacamole!  And as an aside, Cheryl’s was one of the best diners we visited on the whole trip.  A fabulous place in the heart of downtown Portland.




4.  Mac and Cheese – Beechers Hand Made Cheese (Pike Place Market, Seattle)
Like mac and cheese?  Like it as much as I do?  Well, I doubt that, but lovers of this culinary delight should head to Beechers, at Pike Place market.  Avoid the queues of misguided tourists down the street at the “original” Starbucks, and get in line here.
Beechers self proclaim their version of mac and cheese to be the “world’s best”.
After two portions, I am inclined to agree.  Using the cheese made fresh on site, which you can watch them making, the finished goods are probably the freshest, tastiest mac and cheese you will ever taste.  Ever.  Take no notice of a little thing such as they don’t actually use macaroni.  It is substituted by penne, but who cares!


5.  Corned Beef Hash – Glo’s café  (1621 E Olive Way, Seattle)
Corned beef hash.  Not the first dish that springs to mind for a lot of people when talking about foods you crave.  But me, I have always loved a good hash.  And nowhere does it better than the good old US of A.
When we were researching food options (believe me when I say we spend a lot of time doing this) in Seattle, Glo’s corned beef hash was described in terms so glowing (no pun intended) I knew I just HAD to have it.  Soon.
Oh.  My.  God.  Literally…OMG!  If the portion sizes weren’t so gargantuan, I would have ordered and eaten it all over again.  As it was, I couldn’t walk out of the diner, and had to be rolled down the hill sideways back into town.



6. Hot Dogs – Dog Gone It (801 Government Street, Victoria, BC)

If you have ever seen the “Hot Diggedy Dawg” stand at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Fran, and was remiss enough to not get a dog, you would also be spending the rest of the vacation hunting down one of these treats.
It did look as though the dog tasting may have passed us by, but thankfully, we did find this place on Vancouver Island.  And what a treat it was.
A classic wiener, with onions, emitting a glorious aroma, reminiscent of fairgrounds of my youth, and one with bacon and cheese, topped with ketchup and mustard.  My mouth is watering just at the memory of it.
And I’m not sure anybody does the “classic” shake better.  Wow.



The one that got away…
Cherry Pie – the quintessential end to any meal in the States, is with a bit of pie.  And I do love me a bit of pie.  In my opinion, the king of pies is the cherry pie.  This harks back to a previous backpacking trip through South America, where I washed up at dusty San Pedro de Atacama in Chile, with enough money for the last piece of cherry pie in a little bakery I found, and a coffee.  All ATMs were out of cash, and I was about to spend my last pesos on this pie.  But lord was it ever worth it.  It kept me happy until the next day when the town’s two cash machines were replenished.  And I have lived on the memory, sat in the plaza in San Pedro, strains of rapid fire Spanish piercing the air, like gun fire, as the sun set, ever since.  A perfect moment in my life.
So, on the trip, it was on my hit list to try.  But, like always, when you want something, you never seem to see it.  I could get everything from pumpkin, to pecan, to pizza pie.  But my beloved cherry eluded me.
The one I didn’t understand…

Having hit Canada, and found a decent bar for some liquid refreshments, we started getting asked if we wanted any “Caesars”.  At this point we weren’t hungry, and only wanted drinks, so politely declined.  It was only after we noticed every bar advertising Caesars that I decided to do a little research, and found that we weren’t actually being offered a salad, but in fact a local drink.  A Canadian take on the Bloody Mary.  It turns out that this Canadian concoction is little known outside it’s shores, so I felt a little less stupid.  However, I never did get to try a Caesar and will have to keep it on my list for the next time that I am in that beautiful country.

Musings from Mosman

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Welcome to the latest update from the Yorkshire Expat, where we will spend some time talking about how the year is progressing so far (very well, since you asked), what is on the horizon (quite a bit actually), and whatever else springs to mind as I’m writing.
If you didn’t know, but I will assume you do, it is May already.  We have passed the fourth, so no Stars Wars jokes here.  Or is it Star Trek?  I can never work out the difference between the two. 
Looking in the rear view mirror, at the calendar, it never ceases to surprise me at what is already in the dust behind us.  Where did the previous 4 months go?  A full third of the year over already.  Only 230 days to Christmas.  Did any body else buy some Christmas crackers (bon bons in local parlance.  No, I don’t understand either.  They are crackers for gods sake) and cards in the January sales?
The biggest story of the year so far is the recent move to a new apartment.  When I say move, I use the word loosely.  More of a shifting.  Just up the road.  About 500 meters.  Why would you do that you ask?  Well, certain criteria had to be met.  A second bathroom, for the overseas visitors bringing chocolate from the UK each year.  Tick.  A larger balcony to be able to make the most of the weather, allowing for al fresco dining.  Tick.  Still within walking distance of our favourite cafés, restaurants, and bars.  Tick tick tick.
Now, as we weren’t moving far, in our wisdom we decided not to hire a van like normal people.  We would use a car we were hiring for a trip to Mudgee (wine country, which was amazing), and just make a few trips.  The hiring of cars is made very simple with the concept of “GoGet”, where you join up, receive a magnetic card, check the website for a car parked near you, book for any duration starting from 30 minutes, then turn up, swipe the card on the windshield, get in, and drive.  Simple. 
Driving through Mosman with a mattress hanging precariously out the back of the car, avoiding police cars, and looking a tad ridiculous.  Multiple trips were made either side of Easter weekend, by which time we thought we would be done.  We weren’t.  Being only about 500 meters away from the new digs, we figured we could easily move the remaining bits on foot.  And it would be easy.  It wasn’t.
We looked at each other on a dark Tuesday night, with the dawning realization we still had lots to carry.  And thus, doing what needed to be done, we traipsed through the streets of Mosman looking like Syrian refugees, carrying gas bottles for BBQs, mops, clothes horse, vacuum cleaner, and lots of other detritus.  What happened to the so called de-cluttering, before moving?  As always happens.  It gets left til it’s too late, and all your shit comes with you to the new place.
In the lives we now find ourselves living in, the necessities are somewhat different than they were for our parents generation when they set up home.  Their “wireless” was probably a big, dusty, brown hunk of a thing that sat on the mantlepiece, spitting out weekly episodes of the Archers.  Or stirring speeches by Churchill.  Ours is a little white box with flickering green lights.  When it works.  Which is another story.
We took the opportunity when moving home, to move broadband providers.  This was driven by the fact that the rights to show the live English Premier League games (every single one of them) have been bought by Optus, with Foxtel (the local SKY) losing out.  In readiness, a move to Optus broadband followed.  Quickly followed by nothing but problem after problem with the reliability of the service.  Our wi-if is patchy, at best.  I am going to get very annoyed if the same problems start occurring during live football matches.  At godforsaken hours of the night.  If I was a project manager, oh, I am, I would be flagging this as my biggest risk to Optus being able to satisfy the thousands of subscribers wanting their weekly fix of the beautiful game.
Recently, we had a public holiday (you would call it a bank holiday in the UK), ANZAC day, where we took the opportunity to have a long weekend in the country again.  This time in the Hunter Valley, where, conveniently, there are shit loads of wineries.  This makes me happy.  Also, like Mudgee, we booked somewhere quiet and remote.  This time, very remote.  The weekend involved lots of wine tasting.  Lots of cheese tasting.  Peace.  Quiet.  And a hot tub.
This (not the hot tub) got me thinking what it would be like to have a tree change?  If this is not a term you are familiar with, I would usually call it a sea change.  Up sticks, quit the busy city life, and move somewhere quiet, living a life far removed from the current one.  Maybe make cheese.  Keep animals.  Open a little coffee shop.  Etc, etc.  You get the picture.  One of the challenges is picking the right place.  Getting the balance between social and solitude right.
For example, as much as I like Darwin, a very small place on the northern coast of Australia, I’m not sure I’d want to be ensconced there for any length of time.  Subsisting on a diet of titties and schnitties may not be everybody’s cup of tea.   And whilst Gulgong, near Mudgee in central NSW, does the best Rogan Josh in the whole of Australia, could I live in a place that only has one street, and you had to eat curry every day?  Well, thinking about it…
So for now, the sea change remains a pipe dream.  One that I continue to percolate on.
Maybe it will brew into something on my upcoming holiday, or vacation, as they like to say where we will be heading.  A road trip up the west coast of the US ticks some long held boxes personally (Big Sur anyone?), as does finally getting to Canada.  A place I have been threatening to visit since making friends with a Kelowna local, whilst travelling Australia many years ago.  This year I will finally get to Canada.  More specifically, to Vancouver.  This is a trip that fills me with great excitement.

Will there be pics?  You bet.  Will there be a few American cheese burgers involved.  Without doubt the burger spreadsheet will be getting updated.  And will it all be captured in a future blog.  You can count on it.  Just keep reading.

The changing face of travel

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Reading an article recently got me reminiscing about the first real trip I did.  Not the week I had in Tunisia riding camels.  Not the week in Ibiza, avoiding San Antonio.  An actual backpacking trip.  Years before flash packing was a glint in an entrepreneurs eye.  There was no “flash” in the travel we were to embark on.  Not even on the camera we had.  No, seriously, it had NO flash.  There are probably people reading this who don’t understand that statement.  Does this help?
Example of 110 camera, introduced by Kodak in 1972 
My, oh my.  Taking pics on that old thing.  And wandering to the chemist on Pitt St Mall in Sydney, paying extra to get the 1 hour processing.  The height of excitement.  Then, when the pics came, nervously flicking through to see what of the night out in Kings Cross actually got captured.  I lost count of the times we either exclaimed, who IS that?  Why is that girl sitting on your knee?  Who are those lads drinking schooners with us?  Those halcyon days.
The intention is not to rehash the original article I read, but to give me chance to reflect on times past, and the changes that seem to have happened over the years without me really noticing.  I still feel like that excited 23 year old.  Knowing there is a whole world out there to explore.  I am a little older, and wiser now, but I still have that excitement about the world.
Traveling in 1994 was very different to traveling now.  No email.  Internet?  What was that?  All we had was our trusty guide book of choice.  Mine being then, and still, Lonely Planet.  But what hefty tomes they were.
Booking your next hostel over the actual telephone.  The big ones in the street, that you put coins into.  Not the one in your pocket the size of a small caramel slice.  No kids, those weren’t invented at this point.  Mobile phones, not caramel slices. 
Passing on your contact details by getting out a pen, and ripping a piece of paper from your travel journal.  Knowing that you were never going to see, nor contact 99% of the people.  But it felt good to do it anyway.  With your new lifelong “friends”.   That is something that never changes, whatever the technology we use as enablers.  Friendships don’t need social media. 
And as for writing to let people know what you were up to.  Well.  You had to actually write.  With a real pen.
Poste Restante.  What a quaint idea.  If you wanted a letter to reach you on the road, you told people which city, or town you would be in, and added c/o Poste Restante.  And miraculously, it arrived.  You went and queued up with all the other travellers, and vagabonds, with your identification.  And collected your mail.  I still have a box full of letters from that time, collected from post offices around Australia.
A few years after that seminal trip, I found myself back down under, travelling around New Zealand, tying in a quick visit to the sister, who at this time was living it large in Bondi.  Sans children.
What was this strange phenomenon whereby fellow travellers were jumping straight off the bus upon arrival in Christchurch, and running into the nearest café?  All lined up, clearly visible through the front window of the cafe, each sat at a computer terminal.  Were they taking some kind of online exam?  Playing computer games?  No, the age of the Internet cafe had arrived.  With pay as you go access to email, and allowing you to upload (if you had the time and money for the incredibly frustrating upload and download speeds) photos.  At lot had seemingly changed since 1994.  A brave new world indeed.
I had to join this brave new world, and so, far my next major trip, a round the world (RTW in travel parlance) I found myself travelling all the way to Leeds to hunt down an elusive Internet cafe.  I say ALL the way to Leeds, and those readers from home will know this is not far at all.  But in those days, it just highlights how few and far between these mythical Internet cafes were.
Not that I knew what one of these places of magic and mystery were, but I had read that I could go there and get an email address.  Whatever that was.  A legacy of this remains to this day, the reason I have “99” appending fcormack on my hotmail account. This was the year I set it up.  A poignant, and constant reminder of a marvellous year.
Having an email address was only half the story.  Finding a place down a dusty side street in Delhi that somebody had told you had a computer so you could email…who exactly?  I think I was an early adopter in this email malarkey, which meant the options of who I could write to (electronically) were very limited.
And boy, were these internet connections slow!  You paid by the 5, or 10 mins usually.  And before you had written “wish you were here” you had spent next week’s beer and bed budget.  Imagine my relief some years later when Stelios finally got into the game, creating his big orange “EasyInternet” cafes.  Game changers at the time, that I have used in places from Berlin to Barcelona. 
Traveling now is unrecognisable from my early days.  My last real trip was at the end of 2010/start of 2011, all around South America.  Most people I met were carrying expensive bits of kit such as MacBooks, and large expensive SLR cameras.  Not to mention the mini computers, masquerading as phones, in their pockets.  Or it’s the ubiquitous tablet, used to capture and share every waking moment of their trip.  Be it the food.  The amazing sunset.  The “undiscovered” beach they have just discovered.  The one first mentioned by Tony and Maureen Wheeler in the very Lonely Planet guide to South East Asia, Across Asia on the Cheap, from 1973.
I have a wry smile to myself, seeing some of the content in today’s travel blogs.  From the “digital nomads” currently traveling all four corners of the earth.  They sometimes really believe they are exploring uncharted waters.  Seeing things with human eyes for the very first time.  The reality is that they probably aren’t even the first person in their hostel to see it.   But you know what, that is part of the beauty of travelling.  Thinking you are Phileas Fogg.  Educating the masses to the big wide world out there. 
What is true is that the act of travel is no longer a luxury.   Or even a rite of passage as it once was.  It’s just something you do.  Because you can.  Because life is short, and it sure beats working.  And because the world has shrunk to the point that any of us can be anywhere we want to be.

You just need to decide where that is, and make it happen.

Melbourne, Open

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There is a certain satisfaction in finally doing something that you have wanted for many years.  All through that sultry antipodean summer in 1995, mesmerised by the bright blue courts, and the luminous furry yellow ball darting from one side to the other.  Thousands of heads first looking one way, then in miraculous synchronicity, switching to the other.  All appearing to say “no” with a shake of the head in a seemingly interminable slow motion.
Pete Sampras reigning supreme, as he would again in 1997.  When players are so omnipotent, we think they will hold their crown for ever.  But then another generation come through, and we see the likes of Agassi (4 time winner), and then Federer (4 time winner), and now the machine that is Novak Djokovic, going into the tournament holding a record of 5 Australian Open titles, and exiting it claiming his sixth, in straight sets against Andy Murray.  Djok’s 11th grand slam title.
Rod Laver arena, ahead of the battles to come
Some 21 years on from that hostel in Glenelg, Adelaide, I find myself at the famed Rod Laver arena in Melbourne, first for the women’s, then one of the men’s semi finals.  Finally, I am here.  No more talking about what I would like to do.  No more saying “one day”.  One day has a nasty habit of becoming “never”, so when I saw Jetstar’s “take a mate” flight deal, effectively buy one, get one free, as soon as you could say “hidden charges”, I had booked return flights with the “budget” airline. 
Melbourne is a city I had been too a few times before, and greatly enjoyed.  Most of our short trip there would be consumed by the tennis, but we also planned to make the most of the free time we had.  Garnering recommendations from Melbourne “ex pats” we knew, we strategically shaped our agenda around brunch spots, top coffee shops (when we could find them hidden down alleys), and some of the best small bars Melbourne had to offer.
One of Melbourne’s finest
Having not been for a few years how would it compare to home, here in Sydney?  Well, that could depend on who you ask!
For people not from this neck of the woods you may not be aware that there is a certain rivalry between Melbourne and Sydney.  Bordering on animosity.  I’m not sure where it started, or even how real the actual rivalry is.  Some they there is a rivalry between Adelaide and Melbourne, although nobody in Melbourne has ever heard of this rivalry, nor cares what anybody in small town Adelaide has to say.
Sydneysiders claim to live in the best place in Australia (maybe the world, some of them espouse), and Melburnians (from the cultural capital of Australia) beg to differ.   Esteemed journalists such as Mosman based Peter FitzSimons even waded into the debate in his weekly column in the Sydney Morning Herald.   Somewhat disparagingly I would say, to our friends in the state of Victoria. 
Sydney is seen as a place to kick back with a cold stubbie, and enjoy the beach life, in your wife beater (vest) and thongs (flip flops).  Melbourne sneer at even considering something so uncouth.  Melbourne dines out, quite literally, on it’s foodie scene and sublime coffee culture.  Not forgetting that the small bar revolution currently hitting Sydney in fact started in Melbourne some years ago. 
Lock out laws are currently in the news (for NSW and now Queensland), a subject that deserves a blog all on its own, but it is yet another example quoted by bar flies in Melbourne of the superior approach to creating, and maintaining a world class, 24 hour city.  And I would agree.  Whole heartedly.  There is more than one way to create a more harmonious society, and imposing curfews, and ridiculous laws around the sale of alcohol are not the most effective way.
In the whole of NSW, about 3 and a quarter times the size of the U.K., you can no longer buy a bottle of wine after 10pm.  It is deemed too dangerous, and reduces the risk of you going out after your 7 course degustation dinner, and bottle of Sancerre, and clobbering somebody in the street.  Apparently.  And woebetide you would like a Macallan 15yr old single malt past 12am.  Waaay too dangerous.  This contravenes the “responsible service of alcohol laws”, and can only be bought by you if served with a mixer.  I shit you not.  This is the nanny state that Sydney is, no, has become.
Melbourne tried such draconian measures a few years back.  And 3 months later, against massive public revolt, they were repealed.  The result?   Melbourne, and it’s nightlife, continues to go from strength to strength.
But I digress.  This blog is not the place for politics.
How did Melbourne compare to Sydney?  Very favourably in my opinion.  It feels like a “real” city compared to Sydney.  A city with logical layout, grid like, as seen in places like New York City.  I often got the eerie feeling of a flashback to previous city breaks, all over the world.  Sydney is based around so much water, the glorious Harbour, and amazing beaches, that it feels more like a holiday location than a city.  This obviously isn’t a bad thing.  Just very different to most major cities.
The vibrant Degraves St
The small bar scene is booming, even if it looks as though you only now need the corner of an old car park, some wooden pallets to sit on, and some large old soup containers to hold the DJ’s decks, and you have a bar that can legitimately sell $20 cocktails.  Coffee has, and I feel always will be, one of Melbourne’s everlasting loves.  A love that I share.  And you don’t have to look too hard for damn good coffee. 
Together with a progressive approach to city transport, with a tram system in place for years that Sydney can only hope to replicate the success of, which also includes a heavy emphasis on catering to cycling as a bone fide way of commuting, Melbourne has much to offer, and much to proud of.
Nothing beats rattling around the city on the free tram
I now have one eye on the Jetstar website, so I can once again revel in the wondrous laneway culture made famous by the capital of Victoria.

2015, end of year wrap up – New Year Evolutions

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Quite pointedly, you will see that I have not referenced “resolutions” in this.  Why is that?  As we all know, resolutions only ever turn out to be a temporary state of affairs.  Very ephemeral.  They don’t even sometimes last beyond the first hangover of the year.  When all you are craving is a bacon, egg, and black pudding butty.

The first time you fall off your own particular wagon, then it is a case of, “oh well, maybe I will try that again next January.”  I am a firm believer in living the very best life you can.  All the time.  Not once a year.  And not as a result of a guilt fueled post December blow out.

I do like to set myself annual goals though.  Things I want to do and achieve.  With my life.  With loved ones.  It’s the truest of truisms that time flies when you are having fun.  And a truth universally acknowledged that it goes even faster the older you get.

This was brought very sharply into focus recently when I happened across a blog post from a chap called Tim Urban (www.waitbutwhy.com).  A posting he wrote about “life in charts”.  When you can see all your life on one chart, it is visually very powerful.  When you can cross off the time you have had, and see the remainder, it reminds us that we are not immortal, and don’t in fact have all the time in the world.

Cross off what you have had, it is powerful

It went something like this, as applied to me.  If I am lucky enough to last to the ripe old age of 90, I have 46 years left.  I currently see my family maybe once a year on average.  If I do nothing to increase that average, I will only get to see them properly again for a maximum of 46 times.  I don’t want to consider what this means to the times I get to see my mum, who, barring a miraculous, medical discovery, won’t be around to see me reach my 90th birthday.

This isn’t supposed to be depressing.  Rather, a reminder that we should make the most of the time we do have.  Use it valuably.  Don’t waste time on arguments or petty grudges.  Because folks, life really is too short

Setting goals for the year motivates me to make sure I am living my life the way I want to.  Filling it with great experiences. So as I look back over the year, at times like these, in the rear view mirror, over my turkey, and pigs in blankets, I do so with satisfaction and not regret.  

Looking back over a list I made myself at the start of 2015, I haven’t done too bad.  Some items will carry over to this year, but isn’t that the idea?  Create an aspirational list, and see where you land.  My one perennial item, that always gets carried over is “lose weight”.  Not because I want to go on some fad diet, and lose lots of weight.  But rather, to maintain the lifestyle I enjoy so much, which includes lots of eating out, and lots of cocktails, then my weight is one thing that keeps me in the gym so many times a week.

Items on my list for last year included:

  • Go and actually see something at the Opera House (rather than just using the toilets) – ticked this off in December, when we went to see the amazing “Sleeping Beauty” ballet.
  • Eat fish and chips in England – ticked off courtesy of the wonderful friend, with whom I had a splendid, boozy, lunch of fabulous fish and chips at the new Catch restaurant in West Vale, Halifax.
  • Visit somewhere new – ticked off with a first visit to Jervis Bay, Huskisson, and Hyam’s beach on the south coast of New South Wales.  What was going to be a quiet night in the famous “Husky” pub turned into a big night after being told we had to “push on”.  So we spent the night listening to a live rendition of such Aussie classics such as Khe San by Cold Chisel. Harper and Tarimo, go and google them.  Obviously not as popular as The Proclaimers in the hot spots of Halifax and Huddersfield.
  • Learn a bit more Spanish, and speak it in Spain – ticked off with a weekend in Marbella, with some of my oldest (and they are quite old) mates.
  • Continue writing – something I have strived to do with regular-ish blog updates.  If I am honest, I would like to write more, but not sure you would all agree that’s such a good idea 🙂
  • Continue finding new places to eat in Sydney – not much of a hardship this one.  And with an exploding, world class dining scene, it is not very hard to achieve either.

And then the year had lots of highlights, and lots of firsts
I attended the world’s largest BBQ with my new friends Pam and Roy.  I’m convinced that they will still be eating the leftovers.  To this very day.  I also attended the world’s slowest BBQ (in fact I must point out that Mr Kent did an admirable job on his first occasion of using a behemoth of a gas BBQ. He wasn’t in fact quite as slow as Miss Harper has painted him out to be).  If only wee Tom could have been there to see him.

At the age of 43 I went ice skating for the very first time…at Bondi Beach.  Yes folks, you read that correctly.  Once a year an ice rink gets put up on the promenade overlooking the world famous beach.  It was great fun, even if I did resemble a drunk Bambi, trying to keep from falling over, as 5 year olds zoomed past me like Torvill and Dean.

Whale watching made the list of firsts, even though it was the second time I had been out on a trip. This was the first time I had actually seen any whales.

Stand Up Paddle boarding was a first that will definitely be repeated.  Despite needing even better balance than when I went ice skating, I surprised myself by being able to stay upright for long periods at a time.  I was even upright for a whole 10 minutes at one point.

Despite living in Sydney now for over 3 years, 2015 was the first time I had been to the “Vivid” light show in Sydney.  An annual lights extravaganza that has to be seen to be believed. www.vividsydney.com

January saw us welcome our first visitors of the year from the UK.  And the first time I had seen a person visibly melt in the sun in front of my eyes, like an ice cream left outside for too long.  A day at cricket at Sydney Cricket Ground saw us battling with the heat in ways not usually experienced in Greetland.

Thailand – and a return to Koh Samui after about 15 years.  Needless to say the place had changed, and in a good way.  We had an excellent time, fueled by cheap beers, pad thai and me discovering piña coladas.  How damn good are those bad boys?!

August saw me bring in my 3 year anniversary, and we finally got to have cocktails (about $1m worth!!!) in the Shanghai bar.  Known to you and me, and the rest of the world, as the Shangri La hotel.  And what a view from the room.  The ultimate staycation.  Matched by a stay later in the year at the wonderful Ovolo hotel down on finger wharf at Woolloomooloo.  Free mini bar, AND free drinks in the bar between 5pm to 7pm.  Beat that.

A trip home to the motherland in September, with Ma Cormack returning with us, for her second visit, bringing Helen in tow.  This was covered in my last posting.  And a holiday back to the wonderful Palm Cove in Far North Queensland over xmas rounded the year off perfectly, before spending NYE down at Sydney Harbour, for a fireworks display that always leaves me breathless.

And so, onto 2016, and all that brings.  Hopefully a good one for you, your family, and all your friends.

p.s. another first – the first blog post I have done on my new toy, the gargantuan iPad Pro.  I also have the “pencil”, and have started sketching, so I may follow Winston Churchill into painting out the later years of my life.