Saturday, July 24, 2010

Pokie jealousy

I see Joe.My.God is in Las Vegas at the moment for a blogging conference thingy called Netroots (heh – the connotation doesn't quite translate).

Anyway, I'm envying his poker machine access.
Check out this wondrously appalling exercise in Disneyfied nostalgia:

Critters of The Bend #6

Okay, so it's just some sort of skink, but it deserves props for walking through the middle of the lounge room.
I also like to think it's trying its hardest to blend into the carpet:


Pity it started blushing.

The rain in Spain...

I have to say I, like many Australians, had high hopes for Julia Gillard. As Kevin Rudd slowly disappeared into a greige cloud of ineffectiveness, she seemed like an auburn beacon of... if not hope, then at least change.

Since she's become Prime Minister, however, she's like Pauline Hanson cast in My Fair Lady.
Remember when she had that shocking Aussie accent and the bogan haircut to match?


Now she's opening her vowels and stressing her consonants (just like Pauline did to sound educated), plus she's had a salon cut-and-colour (thank god she got rid of those grey roots I spotted just after the takeover was announced):


In either guise, I don't like her any more. She makes me miss Mark Latham.
At least he never pretended to be someone else.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Auction alert

The auction is back in town.

We have no space for any more tchotchkes, let alone furniture, but I doubt that will dissuade Mick from flailing his card.

The viewing's tomorrow, auction on Sunday.
I wish we could afford the bush pig:

At the end of the day...

Every now and then, a sunset warrants a race up the end of the road to the riverbank.
I just caught the end of today's:


On the way back, I noticed a flock of herons (I think) in a V-formation. As I fumbled to get my camera out, another one passed by.
I managed to catch the third:


I don't know if this is a nightly thing or migratory behaviour (where are they going – Scone?) but it was like a ceremonial fly-by.
Without the fear of flaming catastrophe.

Local attractions

I can't believe almost a week has passed since I last posted.

I didn't hear anything from my radiologist about the PET scan, which I'm taking as good news.
On the other hand, a trip to the dentist was fruitless (long story).
But at least the sights on the way there are worth sharing.

First, there's Ossie the Mossie, the mascot of the Hexham Bowling Club (fitting; the area is basically a swamp):


And I noticed that the only gay bar in Newcastle, the Gateway Hotel, is seriously a full-service establishment these days (or simply desperate for business):



Shame they can't spell 'occasion'...

For those in need of a musical flashback, local vineyards are increasingly hosting concerts by superannuated acts. Tom Jones appears regularly, Whitney Houston had a meltdown up here in February and Simply Red are having their Farewell Tour (I thought we all said goodbye ages ago) in October.
Meanwhile, this looks like a soft-rock wet dream:


On Tuesday afternoon our mate Peter arrived from Sydney for a visit, so we hit the Metropolitan for a few beers, where I was silently thrilled to discover I can watch Antiques Roadshow, should I have the urge:


The next day, we drove to Mayfield to check out Coliseum Antiques. Mick and I had popped in there and noticed a fab old Pye television – one of those irresistibly useless purchases.
In the end he didn't buy it but it was worth a browse; the place has a lot of great stuff and the wall of radios is very impressive:


It also has a cute little cafe attached, but I think I'll wait for Australia's Largest KFC! – coming soon just a block away:


They should add that to their Welcome to Mayfield sign...

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Raymond's cock

My dear friend Raymond, bless him, has been exhorting his church congregation to pray for me as I go through this cancer business.

In return, I share this photo of the cock he bought me, happy in its new home on the front porch:

Friday, July 16, 2010

East Maitland palimpsest

This wall intrigues me:


I assume that red signage half-obscured reads 'Maxam'. Mick reckons he remembers the name as some sort of kitchen product but if you Google, it first gets you this:

Maxam specialises in the supply of explosives to the quarry, mining market and civil work.

Makes sense, given the area. But then there's Maxam baby capsules, Maxam cookware, Maxam printing and this, which makes things interesting:


Wonder what Leash would think.

Development hell

Got back last night from Sydney. After a few days, I'd had enough.

It didn't help that I was staying at my parents' place in deepest Paddington, where any trip out of the house necessitates an exhausting uphill trek. It also seems the area has well and truly been taken over by gourmet pretension; the little corner store now sells Wolfgang Puck soup.

I couldn't bear it any longer.

I spent yesterday morning at St Vincent's getting my PET scan, after which I got a sense of the transformation of my old neighbourhood (largely due to Vinnies itself):



As it's slowly engulfed by the hospital's many offshoots, the Green Park Hotel has never looked more forlorn:


And where the former mental health patients of Caritas have been taken, I have no idea, but at least they're making way for some faaaaabulous new apartments ("designer", no less, sold with the promise of "Manhattan-style views" I'm sure):


Suffice it to say, I'm very happy to be home. I really don't feel like I belong in Sydney any more; I found myself itching to get out of there and I spent a small fortune on nothing, it seems.

Also, Oxford Street is dire and it was only going to get worse this weekend – Leather Pride's Inquisition party is on, which means hordes of bug-eyed men (clearly old enough to know better) wearing this season's harnesses. I could really do without witnessing that again.

When it comes to couples in matching outfits, I'll stick with Wiz and Tuppence:


Friday, July 9, 2010

Drear me

I was meant to be heading to Sydney this evening but the weather is so wet and miserable I've decided to put it off. If I'm going to be stuck inside I'd rather be here with Mick.

I'm going down for a week or so to get some medical matters seen to and have a reverse-holiday of sorts.
I've been assured by all and sundry that I'm not missing anything so I don't plan to stay any longer than necessary.
I also want to join Mick when he goes to watch the rugby league at the pub tomorrow night; I'm using it as a test-run of my scarred toothlessness in a licensed venue (I'm still seriously toying with the idea of concocting a dramatic backstory).
Mind you, Maitland is no Darlinghurst...

Anyway, the garden is very happy with the rain; our grevillea is starting to flower for the first time:


The horses, on the other hand, look a bit fed up with it:


I don't blame them.

Because it's worth it

In the car today I noticed that the tourism board of Mayfield, a Newcastle suburb, have really gone for the hard sell:

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Adventures in health education

Courtesy of the John Hunter Hospital and Bowel Cancer Awareness, the world's most disturbing bouncy castle:


Sunday, July 4, 2010

Belatedly butch

In casting terms, I look like "Thug #2 (expendable)" after the surgery. Not in the plan at all but probably for the best.

Part of me is thrilled - this is as butch as I'll ever get:

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Beware the "scenic route"

Much like "tourist drive", "scenic route" usually means poorly maintained, inadequately proportioned, hairpin-bend-infested, white-knuckle terror. So I often use a camera as a kind of psychological airbag.

Mick and I went on a trip today. Peter, a mate from Sydney, wrenched us out of bed at 11 this morning to ask us to meet him at the Wollombi Tavern, 40km or so away.
So off we went along Wollombi Road, which will forever in my mind be associated with the disturbing scarecrow competition that we drove through just before we moved in last year:
.

The scenery's pretty, I admit, and you don't often get equestrians and wombats on the same pole (that's like a triple word score!):


Anyway, after we passed many pubs, including the still-handsome Bellbird Hotel:


... the Wollombi Tavern was welcoming, perhaps overly so (keep in mind this sign leads to the toilets):


It was also heaving, largely with bikers.
Not bikies – bikers. A subtle but important distinction.

I say this because I noticed that, while these blokes' outfits were bespattered with mud:


... all the bikes were gleaming:


I'm not suggesting those particular men owned those wheels, but it does illustrate what seemed to be a lot of Sydney fly-ins (ride-ins?); one was talking about Whistler – the ski resort, not the painter. It was just like trying to get my daily flat white from Bar Coluzzi on Victoria St when the cyclists descend upon the outdoor area like shiny fashion-forward locusts with degrees and way too much time and money spent on leg-waxing.

The drive home, along the Great Northern Road (wrong on at least one count; another is debatable) was fun, if occasionally unnerving.

There were animals, real and imagined (fake rhino, live wallabies):




Plus the odd bony cow on a stony hill (someone with a banjo write a song now):


And several bridges simply not built for modern traffic:


Still, I regularly put my hands out of the car (camera firmly strapped, Dad, don't worry) in the hope of capturing a sense of Barrington Tops, the closest thing we have to mountains nearby:


This unfortunately leads to noticing sinister little buildings in the middle of nowhere:


Minimalism or meth lab?

Friday, July 2, 2010

Julia Gillard, another cowardly PM

Since she dismissed same-sex marriage, this song-choice is ironic. I thought it might be real.
Pity:

Vehicle or driver?

On the New England Highway (of course):

BiscuitWatch 8: Warm reception

Given that Mick and I have been bunkered down this week due to the cold weather, we've kind of neglected the horses, I'm sorry to say.
Mind you, they get fed properly by their owners; we merely provide the afternoon treats.

Still, I had a pang of guilt this afternoon and went over to give Buddy, who was on his own in the corner, the first bite of a carrot. Well!
It was a mad rush. I had to call out to Mick to bring extra supplies.
Tuppence had an early lead:



But Wiz soon barged his way forward, as always:



In response, Biscuit cunningly set her phasers to "supercute":


This naturally prompted an uncontrollable urge to save her, somehow (throw half a carrot at her hooves), which in turn got right up Tuppence's not inconsiderable nose:


Not to be dissuaded, even after being chased around the paddock, Biscuit snuck back in (I'm beginning to think she's not as helpless as she looks):


Alas, the carrots were all gone by this stage, but then so were any misgivings, it seems:


Mick has since driven to the fruit-and-veg place near East Maitland and bought a bag of discounted apples and extra carrots for tomorrow, so we can feed Buddy and Biscuit in peace while Wiz and Tuppence are off somewhere.

Okay, so they're proxy pets. 
At least we don't have to pay the vet's bill.