Promises, promises

I've always appreciated the ambiguity of this particular road sign:

Its sense of defiance begins to falter, however, upon repeated viewing:

This is especially the case when there seems to be little, if any, evidence that any roadwork has even begun, despite the omnipresence of safety cones and cartoon workmen:

My suspicions increased as, over the course of 10 days, we passed the same truck in the same spot, with no workers in sight but what looked like a meticulously arranged scene of hard toil – ever so slightly different each time.

A kind of butch, hi-visibility art installation:

I suppose they should be commended for their commitment to maintaining the illusion of industry.

Jurassic fark

Okay, the previous post went negative.
This could be classified as "confounded".

Not far from the Mater's dreaded Delimarché is a glassed-in courtyard that has been transformed into a kind of large-scale, low-budget prehistoric diorama.
The logic eludes me, but it's at the very least a momentary distraction from pressing medical concerns.

I mean, it has a working volcano:

Not to mention dinosaurs:

And pink dragons, naturally:

It does bear the sad whiff of a decrepit museum display, but I came to like it after a while.
I confess to being a little disappointed when the volcano didn't spew smoke on my last visit.

Vive la (price) différence!

I have nothing bad to say about any of the people who treated me me at the Calvary Mater Hospital.

Okay, there was the doctor who was nominally treating me but waited until my very last day to introduce himself...

But otherwise, they were uniformly friendly and thoughtful and of course I've forgotten virtually everyone's name.
At times it felt like Home and Away was filming a Very Special Episode – there's a seemingly endless supply of attractive young females working there.
I can confidently say thanks to Christine (who got me onto the fab cake show Choccywoccydoodah) and the seemingly sole male technician, Sean, who's working his Movember handlebar very well so far.

I do have one major gripe though.
Delimarché:

Simply put, they are holding everyone who visits the hospital hostage. Every nurse and other staff member I spoke to brings their own supplies; there's nowhere else within walking distance.

Fancy hot food? You can have a meat pie. Or you can have a sausage roll. Exactly how long they've been sitting in that little glass, barely heated box is a matter of conjecture.

Otherwise, you could have a dry, undersized croissant for $3.50.
Or how about a butterless finger bun? Only $5.

According to the Mater's website:

Delimarche design heritage is European in feel with a sense of classic café’s found across Europe with strong touches of today found through it’s clean design lines, food and beverage focused theatre and merchandising. Delimarche offers a fresh, healthy focused deli style menu range including a signature baked ‘front of house’ pastry range.

It's pretty disgraceful.
But so cosmopolitan!

Watch out Coco

There's an old section of High St that connects Maitland and East Maitland. Not a great deal there apart from a few car businesses, a caravan park and a couple of grand old houses.

It also has a small alpaca farm.
If I had to judge a cuteness contest, I'd be torn between Coco and this fellow:

At least you can make a jumper out of him...

No more Materdom

My cancer treatment is finally over.

Woo effing hoo.

Right now, I'd like to think this is appropriate:



Expect a final torrent of hospital trip-related posts over the weekend (we have no intention of hitting that highway again unless absolutely necessary), plus a ceremonial destruction of my radiation mask at some point in the very near future.

It'll be fun!

If not now, when?

My parents have been very generous to me throughout my life.

These days, I don't think a phone call with my mother has ended without her asking me if there's anything I need or want. Some clothes, maybe?

She knows I don't need or want anything – where am I going to wear a new outfit for god's sake?
She does, however, love to shop, be it window-, comparison-, or the kind that actually involves the transaction of money.

Anyway, she bombarded me with this question before they left on their last trip overseas. My answer remained the same – I don't need anything, honestly. And then it dawned on me.

Since I was 15, when I started wearing Doc Martens as school shoes, I really, really wanted a pair of their original, 8-hole, ox-blood boots. A tad flashy, yes, but tough-looking enough to counterbalance any suggestion of poofiness. (Who the hell was I kidding?)

Authentic Doc Martens have always been prohibitively expensive here, though.
In London? Practically half the price.
And so my parents visited the Covent Garden store during their stay and they're now on my feet:

They actually arrived two weeks ago but it's taken that long for the weather to cool down enough to wear them. (Not a good look with shorts. On me, anyway.)

Coke problem

That publicity gimmick from Coca-Cola got a serve on The Gruen Planet.

Apparently you can get custom-made cans – depending on your name.
Host Wil Anderson couldn't convince them he had a niece called Pepsi, but they somehow managed to get away with the following, two of whom were "Greek cousins", I think.

I had to rush the shot so I flipped it for legibility:

It was the last show of this series, so who knows what Coke has to say.

Welcome, Mr President

Barack Obama is spending all of 27 hours in this country but he's already made quite the impression.
I caught him on the TV at the Mater this morning:

Quite simply, he puts every Australian politician to shame when it comes to oratory.
He managed to work in a number of local colloquialisms – correctly and with a sense of humour – and generally came across as well-prepared, well-versed and well-deserving of his position.

How any American could conceive of voting in a Romney, Perry, Cain, Bachmann, etc. instead is beyond me.

Sullen impact

After almost six weeks of driving me back and forth to the hospital while I feverishly photograph oddities and infringements, Mick has become quite the decal/dickhead spotter.

As we approached home this morning he instructed me to look at the car behind us.
And there it was, the decal I'd missed earlier, this time on a windscreen:

What on earth possessed the owner to put that there?
And why "Sullen"?

Why not Moody?
Churlish?
Sour?
Unsociable?
Pram-faced?

Perhaps 'sullen', like 'wicked' and 'hectic', has taken on a new meaning among the younger generation:
"Hey bro, that's totally sullen."

I'm not so sure.

Living on the (extreme) Lower West Side

I came across an awesome website, ExtendNY (via Curbed, another great website), which has taken Manhattan's street grid and really run with it.

Just allow it to track your global location (one click) and you have your very own NYC address.

65, 448th Ave is lovely this time of year:

Rise of the sunflowers

Who knows what that little girl has wrought on the backyard – the sunflowers have already topped the fence:

I'm getting another Triffid vibe...

The Coco Channel: a darker shade of green

When we got home from my morning radiation I saw the horses under the jacaranda tree behind the house, looking like they'd entered an all-you-can-eat trance:

It took a few calls to them and they snapped out of it:

Of course, Wiz naturally dominated proceedings, to the point where the sight of me taking Coco's photo caused some consternation, All About Eve-style:

Jealousy's a terrible thing.

Spot the council worker

A most mysterious sight:

He either took a wrong turn or is being punished for something.

I shudder to think what else he might be up to.

Life and death in The Bend #3

Our first visitor, Peter, also bought us our first housewarming present, a Magnolia grandiflora.

So far it's grown very slowly but has managed to produce some serious flowers for a plant that's still barely two feet tall.
Pity they don't last long.

Here, a lifetime in five days:

Christ! Upstaged by a dog

Yesterday I shared my Mark of Canula; today I see this on Dangerous Minds:

Pure filth

One of the few houses lining the highway in Hexham:

Somehow I don't think it's this Filthy Phil, but you never know.

The suggestive gardener

Forget the mutant carrots.
Mick and I now have another vegetable to tickle our baser urges while we engage in nutritious pursuits.

Behold, our first zucchini:

There are at least a dozen or so on their way, but two were big enough to crop:

Not that it's a measuring contest or anything.

Twi as I might ...

... I just don't get the Twilight hoo-ha.
They're all so pasty.

Nevertheless, it appears to be taking over the entire local cinema:

Modern nature #3

Is this a bad sign?

Some people see the face of Jesus on pieces of toast, while Mary pops up all over the place.

I get bruising from my chemo canula (big needle to the uninitiated) and what do I end up with?

Casper the Evil Ghost: