I had to go to the hospital with my other half for an appointment with the doctor in the fracture clinic as she has a fracture in one of the tips of her fingers. Nasty and painful.
But….
As with any hospital when they say your appointment is a ten am, when you sit down the sign on the wall says that a wait of up to two hours is possible, just in case any emergencies turn up.
So, time on my hands, it’s a perfect opportunity to write. Especially after she is sent to X-Ray, and kind of disappears. A tenuous text connnection keeps me informed of the wait time, and apparently the loss of her ticket to get the X-Ray, but staff are tracking it down.
Meanwhile back in the fracture clinic…
The story is going well, far better than I thought it would, and by the time she returns from X-Ray, an hour and a half has passed and I’ve got 1,200 odd words written.
I should come down here every day and write!
When I get home I transfer the words to the main book file and then meld it into the text already there, make some alterations to accommodate the new plot line, and presto, 1,746 words are done for the day for a total of 3,928 words so far.
I’m on target, but, as everyone knows, targets are there to be shot down, and I’m just hoping mine won’t, for a while anyway.
Yes, I see the lighthouse, what’s it doing all the way out there? The thing is, these places are sometimes so remote, I start thinking I should rent one for 6 months and then, without any distractions, I’ll get the blasted book finished.
Until there’s a shipwreck, of course!
Light is of course light, duh. Turn on the switch and let there be light.
Hang on, didn’t someone else say that, millennia ago? Someone famous? It’s on the tip of my tongue.
No! It’s not cyanide…
So, whilst we need it to see everything, it has another meaning…
My, that’s a light load your carrying today, which means not very heavy.
Or, that’s a light-coloured jumper, which means pale.
Oh, and did you light the fire?
And, after you light the fire, do you light out to a safe haven in light traffic because really it was arson, and you got a light sentence the last time enabling you to do it again.
If you are trying to rob someone, then it was a kilo light.
And after a long hard struggle, did you light upon the correct answer?
This is not to be confused with another similar word, lite.
It seems this is only used for describing low-calorie drinks and food, such as lite beer, which seems to me to be a lazy way of not using light
Still, there’s not much other use of the word except as a suffix -lite, but then you’d have to mention -lyte as well.
The message here – just use the damn word light and be done with it.
We have been to Paris a number of times over the years.
The last time we visited Paris we brought the two eldest grandchildren. We took the Eurostar train from St Pancras station direct to Disneyland, then took the free bus from the station to the hotel. The train station was directly outside Disneyland.
We stayed at the Dream Castle Hotel, rather than Disneyland itself as it was a cheaper option and we had a family room that was quite large and breakfast was included every morning. Then it was a matter of getting the free bus to Disneyland.
We spent three days, time which seem to pass far too quickly, and we didn’t get to see everything. They did, however, find the time to buy two princess dresses, and then spent the rest of the time playing dress-ups whenever they could.
In Paris, we stayed at the Crown Plaza at Republique Square.
We took the children to the Eiffel Tower where the fries, and the carousel at the bottom of the tower, seemed to be more memorable than the tower itself. The day we visited, the third level was closed. The day was cold and windy so that probably accounted for the less than memorable visit. To give you some idea of conditions, it was the shortest queue to get in I’ve ever seen.
We traveled on the Metro where it was pointed out to me that the trains actually ran on rubber tires, something I had not noticed before. It was a first for both children to travel on a double-decker train.
The same day, we went to the Louvre.
Here, it was cold, wet and windy while we waited, Once inside we took the girls to the Mona Lisa, and after a walk up and down a considerable numkber of stairs, one said, “and we walked all this way to see this small painting”.
It quickly became obvious their idea of paintings were the much larger ones hanging in other galleries.
We also took them to the Arc de Triomphe.
We passed, and for some reason had to go into, the Disney shop, which I’m still wondering why after spending a small fortune at Disneyland itself.
Next on the tour list was the Opera House.
where one of the children thought she saw the ghost and refused to travel in one of the elevators. At least it was quite amazing inside with the marble, staircases, and paintings on the roof.
Sadly, I don’t think they were all that interested in architecture, but at the Opera House, they did actually get to see some ballet stars from the Russian Bolshoi ballet company practicing. As we were leaving the next day we could not go and see a performance.
Last but not least was Notre Dame with its gargoyles and imp[osing architecture.
All in all, traveling with children and experiencing Paris through their eyes made it a more memorable experience.
The first we visited Paris was at the end of a whirlwind bus tour, seven countries in seven days or something like that. It was a relief to get to Paris and stay two nights if only to catch our breath.
I remember three events from that tour, the visit to the Eiffel Tower, the tour of the night lights, not that we were able to take much in from the inside of the bus, and the farewell dinner in one of the tour guides specially selected restaurants. The food and atmosphere were incredible. It was also notable for introducing us to a crepe restaurant in Montmartre, another of the tour guide’s favorite places.
On that trip to Paris, we also spent an afternoon exploring the Palace of Versailles.
The next time we visited Paris we flew in from London. OK, it was a short flight, but it took all day. From the hotel to the airport, the wait at the airport, departure, flying through time zones, arrival at Charles De Gaulle airport, now there’s an experience, and waiting for a transfer that never arrived, but that’s another story.
I can’t remember where we stayed the first time, it was somewhere out in the suburbs, but the second time we stayed at the Hilton near both the Eiffel Tower and the Australian Embassy, notable only because the concierge was dating an Australian girl working in the Embassy. That was our ticket for special treatment, which at times you need to get around in Paris.
It was the year before 2000 and the Eiffel Tower was covered in lights, and every hour or so it looked like a bubbling bottle of champagne. It was the first time we went to Level 3 of the Tower, and it was well worth it. The previous tour only included Level 2. This time we were acquainted with the fries available on the second level, and down below under the tower.
This time we acquainted ourselves with the Metro, the underground railway system, to navigate our way around to the various tourist spots, such as Notre Dame de Paris, The Louvre, Sacre-Coeur Basilica, and Les Invalides, and, of course, the trip to the crepe restaurant.
We also went to the Louvre for the express purpose of seeing the Mona Lisa, and I came away slightly disappointed. I had thought it to be a much larger painting. We then went to see the statue of Venus de Milo and spent some time trying to get a photo of it without stray visitors walking in front of us. Aside from that, we spent the rest of the day looking at the vast number of paintings, and Egyptian artifacts in the Museum.
We also visited the Opera House which was architecturally magnificent.
The third time we visited Paris we took our daughter, who was on her first international holiday. This time we stayed in a quaint Parisian hotel called Hotel Claude Bernard Saint Germain, (43 Rue Des Ecoles, Paris, 75005, France), recommended to us by a relation who’d stayed there the year before. It was small, and the elevator could only fit two people or one person and a suitcase. Our rooms were on the 4th floor, so climbing the stairs with luggage was out of the question.
It included breakfast and wifi, and it was quite reasonable for the four days we stayed there.
It was close to everything you could want, down the hill to the railway station, and a square where on some days there was a market, and for those days when we were hungry after a day’s exploring, a baguette shop where rolls and salad were very inexpensive and very delicious.
To our daughter we appeared to be experienced travelers, going on the Metro, visiting the Louvre, going, yes once again, to the crepe restaurant and the Basilica at Montmartre, Notre Dame, and this time by boat to the Eiffel Tower. We were going to do a boat rode on the Seine the last time but ran out of time.
We have some magnificent photos of the Tower from the boat.
Lunch on one of the days was at a restaurant not far from the Arc de Triomphe, where our daughter had a bucket of mussels. I was not as daring and had a hamburger and fries. Then we went to the center of the Arch and watched the traffic.
Our first time in Paris the bus driver got into the roundabout just to show us the dangers of driving in an unpredictable situation where drivers seem to take huge risks to get out at their exit. Needless to say, we survived that experience, though we did make a number of circuits.
This year, I will not be necessarily starting from scratch though it will feel like it.
Since my eldest grand daughter was about 5, now nearly twelve years ago, I’ve been promising a YA chapter book about a princess, based on her.
She seemed to like the idea of being a royal pain in the neck, which is what I said she would be in the book, but, by the end of her adventure, she will have transitioned from spoilt brat to a woman worthy of becoming a Queen.
A long time ago, when my wife was in hospital having an operation, my daughter who is also the editor and mother to said princess, and the princess herself were sitting around in the hospital room waiting for my wife to return from radiology, and decided to come up with the quest said princess had to go on.
Thus, over the next hour, we came up with a lot of different ways to make her ‘suffer’, ten in fact, because at the end of each ‘trial’ she had to collect a magic stone, ten altogether, which had to be arranged correctly to fulfil the prophesy.
And, of course, save the realm from destruction.
Yes, there’s always some sort of world threatening calamity behind every quest.
And since then, she had become unofficially Princess Marigold, and the title hovering between The Dark Horse and The Legend of The Dark Horse. Or maybe, when it’s finished, something else.
Over the twelve years I have been writing bits and pieces, and in the last month been putting it together in a single file, as well as a synopsis, and, God forbid, a plan, which I found quite by accident, and we must have put together on a forgettable day in 2015. That’s the date on the file.
So, come November, it’s back to it, and hopefully it will be done by her 18th birthday, in September next year.
At least now, she had grown so much, that she will be able to dress up as the princess, and feature on the front cover!
And, as each day passes, I will trying to keep everyone informed of my progress.
This was one of the more interesting experiences for the grandchildren as they were, as all young girls are, interested in ballet.
We thoroughly enjoyed our visit which included some time watching ballet practice.
I could not convince anyone to take the elevator back down to the ground floor as it was suspected we might be ‘attacked’ by the ‘phantom’. Certainly, the elevator was very old and I think at the time it was being repaired.
Part of the Grand Staircase in Palais Garnier Opera de Paris
The ceiling above the main staircase. The ceiling above the staircase was painted by Isidore Pils to depict The Triumph of Apollo, The Enchantment of Music Deploying its Charms, Minerva Fighting Brutality Watched by the Gods of Olympus, and The City of Paris Receiving the Plan of the New Opéra.
The ceiling of Chagall at the Palais Garnier
On 23 September 1964, the new ceiling of the Opéra Garnier was inaugurated with great pomp. It was painted by Marc Chagall at the request of André Malraux
Amphitheatre and Orchestra Pit entrance
Interior, and doorways to boxes
Box seats in the auditorium
Ornate ceilings and columns
Seating inside the auditorium
The day we were leaving Paris, was the first night of the Bolshoi Ballet. My two granddaughters were greatly disappointed at missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime, to see the Bolshoi Ballet at the Paris Opera House.
It’s not that we often go out to cafés for lunch, but this week we decided to spend a few days out of the city.
Not that our travel options are all that plentiful far afield because of the coronavirus travel restrictions, but our state, Queensland, has a lot of places not far from home, but can make it feel like you are.
So, here we are in Canungra, a small town in what is known as the Gold Coast hinterland, or more generally the “Scenic Rim”.
Before going to the cottage we have booked for a few days, we’re stopping off at a cage we know has good coffee, and cakes, to have lunch, and, of course, coffee.
But, here’s the thing…
Sometimes its not just the food that’s the draw, it’s the atmosphere, and the diverse collection of patrons.
Being a tourist destination, you’re more likely to be surrounded by visitors from far afield than locals, and this day was no exception.
And although we are still practising social distancing, people are close enough, and in some cases, loud enough that you can overhear their conversations.
Like, the fish and chips in Ceduna, located in another state, South Australia, are dreadful, because of the fat dripping off the batter on the fish. A handy hint indeed, if I’m ever in Ceduna.
Then, like a lot of older people do, a discussion turns the medical problems and procedures, described, at times, in gory detail. Thank God I was not eating at the time, because vivid descriptions are about as bad as watching medical dramas on TV, and one in particular, “Transplant”.
I guess when you’re 74 there’s not a lot you have in common with others except the frailty of the human body. And if you’re a caravanner, the places you’ve been, good and bad.
Sadly my idea of camping is a four star hotel.
Then the food arrives, a rather large hamburger, stabbed to death by a steak knife, just to make sure it’s truly dead, and my selection, beer battered flathead and chips with the largest salad I’ve had in a long time.
Needless to say my expectations were exceeded, and it was not only filling, but delicious.
I’m sure we’ll be back again in the not too distant future, surprisingly because if there was no coronavirus we may never have discovered this little slice of paradise.
The castle is located in the southern Chianti Classico countryside and has been there for over ten centuries, and owned by the Ricasoli family since 1141.
Like any good castle, it has strong defences, and I was looking for a moat and drawbridge, but it looks like the moat has become a lawn.
The very high walls in places no doubt were built to keep the enemy out
The castle has been destroyed and rebuilt many times over the last 900 years. It was part of the Florentine defenses, and withstood, and succumbed to many battles with Siena, which is only 20 km away. More recently, it still bears the scars of artillery fire and bombing in WW2.
The room at the top of this tower would have an excellent view of the countryside.
Here you can see the old and the new, the red brick part of the rebuilding in the 1800’s in the style of an English Manor
We did not get to see where that archway led.
Nor what was behind door number one at the top of these stairs. Rest assured, many, many years ago someone wearing armor would have made the climb. It would not pass current occupational health and safety these days with a number of stairs before a landing.
Cappella di San Jacopo. Its foundations were laid in 1348.
Renovated in 1867-1869, it has a gabled façade preceded by a double stone staircase. The interior, with a crypt where the members of the Ricasoli family are buried, has a nave divided into three spans with cross vaults.
The 1,200 hectares of the property include 240 hectares of vineyards and 26 of olive groves, in the commune of Gaiole.
In Melbourne, it’s an institution even a religion. Traditionally it is played on a Saturday afternoon and luckily for us, we were attending such a game.
Of course, this was last year. This year, with the COVID 19 virus everything, including football has been called off.
Except now we have ‘flattened the curve’ football can start again, only without the spectators. Social distancing means we can’t pack the stadium, or go to a game. For a while, it was just be from our lounge rooms, watching it on the TV.
But, as some of the states began to get on top of the virus, football teams moved from Victoria, and played in Sydney, Adelaide, Perth, and the Northern Territory.
And as the Victorian situation got worse, the decision was made to move the grand final, which had never left the MCG in Victoria, to Brisbane. It was like America never losing the Americas Cup, until they did.
But, below, is the atmosphere that we have been missing, and has returned in a limited sense as coronavirus restrictions eased (but not completely), a game we attended last year:
The stadium is the MSG, one of the biggest and best in Australia. Shortly after the start, I’d estimate there are about 40,000, but eventually, we were told there was 53,000, spectators here for a clash between the two Melbourne based teams. It is not unheard of to have in closer to 90,000 spectators, and the atmosphere is at times electric.
For the die-hards like me who can remember the days when there were only Victorian-based teams, in the modern-day form of the game, to have two such teams is something of a rarity.
However, it’s not so much about the antics on the field as it is the spectators. They are divided into three groups, the members, the private boxes, and the general public.
But in the end, there is no distinction between any of them because they all know the rules, well, their version of them, and it doesn’t matter who you are, If there is something that goes against your team, it is brings a huge roar of disapproval.
Then there are ebbs and flows in the crowd noise and reactions to events like holding the ball attracting a unified shout ‘ball, or a large collective groan when a free kick should have been paid or by the opposite team’s followers if it should have been.
It is this crowd reaction which makes going to a live game so much better than watching it televised live. The times when players take marks, get the ball out of congestion, and when goals are scored when your team is behind and when one is needed to get in front.
This is particularly so when one of the stars goes near the ball and pulls off a miracle 1 percent movement of the ball. These are what we come to see, the high flying marks, the handball threaded through a needle, a kick that reaches one of our players that looked like it would never get there, an intercept mark or steal that throws momentum the opposite way.
This game is not supposed to be a game of inches but fast yards, a kick, a mark, a handball, a run, and bounce. You need to get the ball to your goal as quickly as possible.
That’s the objective.
But in this modern game, much to the dismay of spectators and commentators alike, there is this thing called flooding where all 36 players are basically in a clump around the ball and it moves basically in inches, not yards.
It is slow and it is ugly.
It is not the game envisioned by those who created it and there is a debate right now about fixing it.
Here, it is an example of the worst sort. This game is played in four quarters and for the first two, it is ugly scrappy play with little skill on display. The third shows improvement and it seems the respective coaches had told their players to open it up
They have and it becomes better to look at.
But this is the point where one team usually gets away with a handy lead, a third-quarter effort that almost puts the game out of reach. The fourth quarter is where the losing team stages a comeback, and sometimes it works sometimes it does not.
The opposition gives it a red hot try but is unsuccessful. Three goals in a row, it gave their fans a sniff of hope but as the commentators call it, a kick against the flow and my team prevails.
It is the moment to stay for when they play the winning teams song over the stadium’s loudspeaker system, and at least half the spectators sing along. It is one of that hair raising on the back of your neck moments which for some can be far too few in a season
We have great hopes for our team this year, and it was worth the trek from Brisbane to Melbourne to see it live rather than on the TV
Leaving the ground with thousands of others heading towards the train station for the journey home there is a mixture of feelings, some lamenting their teams, and others jubilant their team won. There is no rancor, everyone shuffles in an orderly manner, bearing the slow entry to the station, and the long lines to get on the train.
Others who perhaps came by car, or who have decided to wait for a later train or other transport, let their children kick the football around on the leaf-covered parkland surrounding the stadium.
It is an integral part of this game that children experience the football effect. Kicking a ball with your father, brothers, and sisters, or friends on that late autumn afternoon is a memory that will be cherished for a long long time.
It’s where you pretend you are your favorite player and are every bit as good. I know that’s what I used to do with my father, and that is what I did with my sons.
But no matter what the state of the game, it is the weekend the football fans look forward to and who turn out in their hundreds of thousands. It is a game that ignites passions, it brings highs and it brings incredible lows.
And, through thick and thin, we never stop supporting them.
Like leg, arm is a word that is mostly associated with a body part.
Like being legless, another description for being drunk, being rendered ‘armless’ means you are no threat, in a rather awful but funny way by saying it.
I guess we all have a dash of ‘sick’ humour in all of us.
However, arm can also be used to describe a part of a structure too.
It could also describe the arm of an ‘armchair’.
But…
Arm also means to give people weapons like guns, usually from an armoury.
I’m guessing that a whole lot of people with arms is an army!
You can also say that taking those weapons away would be to disarm them.
It might take the long arm of the law to do it, too.
And to disarm someone doesn’t necessarily mean to take away their arms, but to ‘charm’ them with your wit and humour.
An arm can also be a river or streams tributary, so I could say instead of staying on the main river, I’ll take the ‘named’ arm, but just remember, sometimes this can be dangerous, getting off the main route.
On a boat, there is a yardarm, and this was once used to hang seamen who committed serious crimes such as mutiny.
A call to arms was to declare war,
And lastly, an arm of the defence services could be any one of Army, Navy, Marines or Airforce.
Just steer clear of the Navy for the aforementioned reasons.
You know, the sort of day where you have the best of intentions, you get up ready to start attacking the agenda you’ve told yourself you’re finsally going to sit down and get on with.
The same set of words you’ve been using to fire up the enthusiam you really don’t feel much of the time, but this time, having worked yourself into a high degree of positivity just before going to bed.
Everything is set up. All you have to do is’ bound out of bed, bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to go.
That was the first mistake. You went to be very late, around 2 am, and when you wake up, it’s feels like death warmed up. No bright eyes, and definitely no bushy tail.
But, there’s work to be done.
Before that, there’s other stuff, and as each succeeding chore is down, the less the enthusiasm feels. I have to clean up the dining room, which, at the moment, is the go to for all the tools, paint, tile glue, tiles, everything that’s being used in the latest round of renovations.
Frankly, the room is a mess. I can move a lot of the tools out to the shed now that I’ve finished with them, and the rest, a few pain brushes and the tiling equipment, we be used over the next week.
An hour and a half later, the room is now clean.
I go out to the writing room and look at the list. Good thing I’d didn’t put a time against anything, because if I have, I was now looking at being at least four hours behind.
A phone call made that timeline worse. People always call when you don;t need any calls to dstract you. It’s one of the reasons why I have seriously considered getting the land line cut off. And if it wasn’t for the grandchildren, who know they can call on that line, with a number that’s easier to remember than a mobile, I would.
But that of course leaves me open to the half dozen scam calls a day, trying to sell cladding, solar panels, defend myself form a car crash that I never had, fend off illicit charges from Telcos, and now Amazon. Not forgetting my friend from the NBN who rings once, sometimes twice a day telling me my internet is about to be cut off.
To be honest I wish they would, but as much as I tell them to cut it off they never do, perhaps knowing that if they do, they can’t scam call me anymore.
By the time I get back to my office, it’s time for a cup of tea.
Or something stronger.
The morning has gone, and the afternoon is half over, and all I’ve done is look at the list.
And since blog posts are on the list, this is why I’m writing this whinge.
How is your day going? I hope it’s better than mine.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 