Oops - or, 'what do you MEAN January is nearly over?'

I honestly didn't intend for there to be quite such a blogging hiatus when I last posted.  But January just flew by in a blur of work trips and schnail (= snow + hail + sleet + rain, all falling at the same time).  I had very good intentions to blog about the run my sister and I did on the 6th January to kick off 2013 in style.  It was a beautiful day, we were in the South of France, we ran through pine forests ... and my phone didn't save any of the photos.

Now it's the tail end of January and I am in the throes of packing for my forthcoming trip to Australia.  When the work is over I'm hoping to visit a couple of places I've never been (including - finally - some proper red desert Outback where I'll meet a taciturn Drover-type who turns out to be perfectly charming and also possessing a white dinner jacket.)  On the way back from Oz I'm spending a couple of days in Abu Dhabi which will be my first new country visited in 2013.  (I have actually been in the airport in Abu Dhabi on a previous trip but I don't think it counts unless you actually step outside the airport.)

I leave you now to go and celebrate International Potato, Wine and Crossword Day (this is the annual commemoration of my Granny's birthday; though Granny is no longer with us we like to think that she's still enjoying the aforementioned potatoes, wine and crosswords, which were three of her favourite things.)  However, I promise, PROMISE, that I won't wait another month to post.

Shoes, Ships, Sealing Wax & Other Savouries

Well hello there.  So, on Friday of the week before last I was, literally, in the middle of writing a blog post when the phone rang.  (No, this is not the post where I tell you that HTLT has been optioned and will be turned into a movie.  Sorry 'bout dat.)  And the phone kept ringing all day.

One of the calls was to say I had a new nephew: number four in the series entitled Adorable Nephews.  The first order of business today is, therefore, to say welcome to Cian and a big huzzah to his mama for her hard work and to Conor and Cormac for all the support.

Most of the other phone calls were of the Urgent Work That Has to be Completed Right Now variety and between them and actually doing the Urgent Work, my poor blog was well and truly abandoned last week.  Sorry blog.

This post is to explain my absence, bid you welcome to November, link to this piece I wrote about Sidney Nolan's Ned Kelly paintings and promise that I will return soon (tomorrow even!)

xxx HTLT

Sisters on the Roof

Flashback a few weeks to Greece.  Three sisters at a rooftop bar.  

Sisters, sisters, never were there such devoted sisters,

Never had to have a chaperone - no, sir!

I'm here to keep my eye on her.

Caring, sharing, 
Every little thing that we are wearing.  
When a certain gentleman arrived from Rome, she wore the dress, and I stayed home.

All kinds of weather, we stick together, the same in the rain and sun.  
Three different faces, but in tight places, we think and we act as one.  
(Hmm.)

Those who've seen us know that not a thing could come between us.  

Many men have tried to split us up, but no one can.

Lord help the mister, who comes between me and my sisters ... and Lord help the sister, 

Who comes between me and my man.

Seals and Selkies

Walking near the Smugglers' House on Rathlin, I heard the loud and unmistakable sound of snoring.  I could see some seals in the water, but it couldn't be them - because the sound persisted even when they went underwater.  I looked around for some stray smugglers who might have sampled too much of their wares, but there were none to be seen.

Eventually (and because one of them moved) I realised that what I thought were piles of driftwood were actually lounging seals.  They had arranged themselves on the rocks and in the rock pools.  Some were entirely out of the water, others had their noses and the tips of their tails out - but their bellies submerged.  They were snoring and sighing and snuffling and calling to each other in very human-like tones.

And the legend of the selkies - creatures who are seals in the water, but abandon their skins or cloaks on land and take human form - made perfect sense to me.  I could see the seals becoming human - or I could imagine myself putting on a seal cloak and diving under the waves.

Would it be to much to ask, in my selkie life, for a seal husband who doesn't snore?

Weekend Digest

Busy, lovely Melbourne weekend.

I reacquainted myself with Armadale, last seen in 2001 (and remembered as the home of the shop selling the ugliest dresses in the world.)

Bought some shoes.

Drank coffee (x multiple instances.)

Watched the rain.

Ate a friand (an Antipodean variation of a financier, but also containing jam and sometimes coconut.  Yum.)

Went to the outdoor, rooftop cinema at Curtin House.

Tried out a new brekkie place for brunch on Sunday with friends (you could go to a different breakfast place in Melbourne every weekend of the year and still have plenty left over.)

Rekindled my love affair with East Melbourne library.

Rekindled my love affair with gin fizzes (my nominee for the perfect Summer drink).

Monday Miscellany

Hints to Lady Travellers is slowly adjusting to the week after a weekend that didn't go exactly as planned (sick + burgled = sad).  HOWEVER, in the dauntless spirit of my pioneering lady traveller forebears, I am pulling up my socks and looking forward to better things ahead.

They include:
Going to Oxford and London later this week.
Checking out the Little Museum.
Learning to sew (again) so that I can use some of these beautiful Liberty fabrics and make cushions for my small 'ouse (TM Gregory the adorable French nephew).
Rekindling my love of Dublin Bikes.
Finishing my life list and publishing it here so I have no excuse not to start doing the things on it.

And because every post is enhanced by a picture, here's one demonstrating the return of the Mean Face.

Australian Notes

It has been a busy, busy week.  Here is a random selection of things that have been happening over the past 48 hours.

* Yesterday, someone was spelling something out to me on the phone.  "'A' as in alpha.  'M' as in mother.  'U' as in ute."

* My taxi driver last night (who drove as if it were his first time behind a wheel) crashed into another car.  The driver of the other car - dressed in shorts and t-shirt in spite of the torrential rain - got out and started banging on the taxi angrily.  And through all shouting, the two drivers kept calling each other 'mate.'  Passive-aggression on a whole new level.

* The city is very quiet today because it is GRAND FINAL DAY.  Everyone is either at the Aussie rules final, watching the final at the pub or out of town trying to avoid wall-to-wall footy coverage.

* It is still raining (has been since Wednesday).  Australia likes to present itself to the rest of the world as hot and sunny but I am here to tell you that if you visit anywhere in New South Wales, Victoria or Tasmania between June and October, bring an umbrella and waterproof shoes.

xxx HTLT

It's The Little Things...

In summer, it is vital to coordinate one's nails with one's ice cream.  

My watermelon nail varnish from Korres; LTLS's yellow from Rimmel; gelato (delicioso) from Amorino in Cassis (amorino.com).

Auckland Round Up

This past week has mostly been about work, work, work.  But I managed to squeeze in a few Lady Traveller experiences in between times.


My first feijoa - smells like strawberry bubblegum, but tastes like a cross between a banana, a kiwi and a pomegranate.  Quite extraordinary.





Auckland War Memorial Museum dressed in crimson on the national day of mourning for the victims of the Christchurch Earthquake - note the appropriately dramatic stormy sky.





La Cigale French Market in Parnell for breakfast on a sunny morning.

St Kevin's Arcade on K (Karangahape) Road, where I poked in the cool vintage shops and admired the Art Deco ironwork.

Home Thoughts, From Abroad

[With deepest apologies to Robert Browning.]

Oh to be Ireland,
Now that general election's there,
And whoever wakes in Ireland,
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest of lowly incompetents and the general inertia and gloom,
Have led us to an uncertain future/impending doom*,
While the journalists sing 'we told you so!'
In England - now!


And after them, the other Europeans follow,
And Vanity Fair builds, sympathy sounding hollow!
Hark, where yet another cliché-spouting reporter
Leans towards us and scatters Schadenfreude
Images of tombstones and planes - sobbing mammies in their wake -
That's the 24 Hour News guy; he repeats each statistic twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first gabillion times he mentioned the fact that in the boom Ireland had the most helicopters per capita!
And though the election candidates seem tarred with the same brush,
All will be gay when the government gets the push
And the ECB takes over the little children's dower**
Far brighter than trusting our own shower*** ....


*Depending on which political party you listen to
** What's left of it after buying all the banks' bad debts
***I love the fact that TripAdvisor includes 'Áras an Uachtaráin/Home of the President' as slang.

Hunts to Lady Travellers

Henry Higgins observes in My Fair Lady that ‘an Englishman's way of speaking absolutely classifies him / The moment he talks he makes some other Englishman despise him’ (my autobiography will be entitled: ‘Everything I Learned in Life, I Learned From the Musicals’). In my travels I have noted that this is also true of English-speakers around the globe.

English people take the piss out of the Irish, Welsh and Scottish accents. Americans make fun of the English. Many people make fun of South Africans (though in my experience very few can pull off a convincing SA accent). On several occasions Australians (who, to my ear have a discernibly Australian accent) have told me very seriously that Australians don’t have accents, ‘not like Americans’.

I have had my (Irish) English corrected by English people – but, conversely, have also frequently been asked if I really were Irish because ‘you don’t have an Irish accent’. Thanks for asking. And yes, I am sure.

Then there’s the Kiwi accent. My first true exposure was last week in Auckland. I had the tv on as background noise while I was packing and I heard a lady offering ‘hunts and tups’ for Christmas cake decorating. But what I like is that people here take the mickey out of themselves. Another ad (for timber decking) has a woman shaking her head mournfully at ‘boys and their decks’. Except with a Kiwi accent it’s much funnier …

Personally I like the fact that people in different parts of the world have taken the basic medium of English and added their own local flavour to it and I don’t see why any one version is any better (or worse) than any other. Because when it comes down to it, thinking your accent is superior to someone else’s is just another form of snobbery.

So here’s the deal: I won’t make fun of your accent and you won’t say, ‘Irish? Tirty tree and a turd! Top of the mornin’! Begorrah!’ Oh, and while I think of it, journalists and travel writers please try to resist the temptation to refer to Irish people and their brogue (charming, thick or other).

Super, thanks!

Savage Myrtle

Myrtle is one of my housemates. Here she is.

Where?

Just … here.

Destination Canberra

Tomorrow I'm going to CANBERRA. I'm excited, which amuses everyone I've said it to here in Melbourne. I think that for most Australians, Canberra = Wolverhampton. (I once spent a weekend there with 100 nuns. It was ... no, I still can't talk about it.)

Anyway, in a nice piece of timing, it has - two and a half weeks after the general election - finally been decided who the prime minister will be. Let me break it to you gently: the guy in the budgie smugglers didn't get in. The red-haired lady did.

I will take my camera with me and try to spot something exciting and capital-city ish with which to amuse you. Fair dinkum!*

Eithne xxx

*Politicians say this a lot in Australia. Apparently it's a vote winner. Who knew?

Nom de Café

You’ve heard of NOM DE PLUME and even NOM DE GUERRE. Some elderly Frenchmen might say nom d’un nom when they’re agitated and my Very Adorable Nephew says nom nom nom when he’s enjoying his dinner.

And now I’ve added the NOM DE CAFE. Quoi?

It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. When you order a coffee to take away, they often ask you what your name is. I’ve discovered the hard way that saying ‘Eithne’ just involves pain and really far too much confusion for a simple transaction. I tried just ‘E’ but that wasn’t much better – I got a lot of ‘E … for what?’ Finally, I settled on Beth.

Why Beth you ask? Well, it has all the features of a good coffee alias. Easy to spell. Easy to remember. It has the advantage of sounding quite like one of my nicknames (Eith/Eth) AND my middle name is Elizabeth, so I don’t feel like a complete fraud.

Today I tried it out for the first time. When the woman behind the counter said ‘is there a Beth here?’, I yelled, ‘here I am!’ I took a photo (with my phone) of the spot for posterity. It still feels a bit weird (am I Beth material? Do I look like a Beth?) but so far seems to be working out, with the added bonus that I feel a bit like a spy. Vive le nom de café!

While I Think Of It...

First of all, in response to a suggestion from Alma, I have added an option for you to tick a box that lets me know you like a particular post. If no one ever ticks the box, I will have to remove the option for the sake of my fragile self-esteem. (Now that, there, was an example of a massive Hint from a Lady Traveller.)

Second of all, the Masterchef final was much more exciting than the political debate (I know, you were dying to ask, but too polite to mention it.) Julia Gillard edged a win in the latter, while Adam beat Callum in the former.

Pishies

My sister sent an email saying that Gregory (the adorable nephew) was going to Greece to swim with the pishies.

It made me laugh, and also made me dig out these photos of pishies I've been taking with Gregory in mind. I don't know if he'd like the enormous carp in all the ornamental ponds, or if he'd be a bit nervous.

Here are some pishies swimming on the ceiling of the Australian pavilion at the Shanghai Expo:

Here are pishies in the centre of Shanghai. I call this one Swimmin' in the Rain.

Here are lots of colourful pishies:

And here, pishy meets duckie:

Hello pishie.

Hello duckie.

Road Closed

We are CLOSED today owing to dentist appointment. Pray for us.

PS isn't this photo hilarious? I wish I had taken it but I found it on the interweb. And even though I'm trembling with trepidation, it made me laugh.

Aaargh!

Wow. I really jinxed myself with that whole pledge to be consistent thing. Picture, if you will, the ball in the pinball machine. That is me.

I'm setting off for the other side of the world IN TWO WEEKS. That means packing. That means visas. That means finishing the Serious Project. That means a to-do list of epic proportions.

So, really, I wouldn't hold my breath for any kind of consistency at all. There WILL BE BLOGGING - but it will be sporadic and, I'm very much afraid, even more stream-of-consciousness than usual.

Things To Do

I’m back, I’m back, I’m back! The road trip was great fun and, starting tomorrow, I will be posting pictures and stories of our adventures on the way from Dublin to Paris and back.

Today, though, has been the day of The List. Sitting on various ferries, I compiled a mammoth to do list and today I’ve been phoning and emailing non-stop. Beds, skips, taxes, accommodation, flights, different flights, contracts, library books – it’s really a very dull list. The only thing that keeps me going is being able to cross things off.

Update blog. There.

Spring, Cocktails, Cherry Blossoms

Last night a friend and I drank bellinis and put the world to rights. This morning I’m still thinking about the bellini. It is a perfect cocktail for spring and Dublin is having a perfect spring at the moment: pink and white blossom, green shoots, mild weather – sun, even – and still light at half past eight in the evening.

This is the cherry tree outside my bedroom window. Inspired by the bellini and by spring in general, I’m thinking of creating a cocktail in its honour (I could write a poem, but the drink would be more enjoyable.) It should probably contain cherries of some sort but I don’t like cherry liqueur. Any suggestions?