It's alright for OZ ..snippet

Manly has some great places to eat and restaurants vary from South American to Indian and the vast majority are very good and even better value for money. One place in particular did a cracking steak with salad and fries for ten dollars; needless to say I ate there most nights! I did try one of the full-on steak houses on the front but I have to admit it was expensive and what I did get was overpriced, strangely I even had a bill for the water which was a first. Lesson learned I stuck to my friendly public house and its ten dollar bonanza.

 When writing you have to have a few ingredients to get the juices flowing, one of the obvious one’s is quiet and that was all going to plan until the second week of my visit when I heard muffled voices for a few hours and the odd whistle or shout, having said that I could live with it. The problem was by 7.a.m the next morning I was greeted by a noise that sounded like someone throwing a mountain goat down a well-oiled tin roof with a forty five degree slope while attached to a bungee line 2 feet shorter than the end of the tin.  I dared to hang my head out of the window and look and to my horror some builders had started gutting a penthouse about ten floors up and had attached a long tube to the side of the building which led to a skip at the bottom, they were throwing everything down the tube and every item they sent down there rattled the very window panes and worse they looked like they were set in for the month. I had no choice but to batten down the hatches and close all windows and to be honest in the end I resorted to my iTunes headphones to drown out the rattle. Amazingly after a few hours I even discarded the headphones as to be fair you do get used to it, much like someone who lives next to the Motorway, it’s always there you just block it and ironically the following day I wrote almost fourteen thousand words, proving I am just a Diva really.

 The weekend had arrived and there was a buzz in Manly as it was holding an annual street festival, there were stalls going up everywhere and the roads were blocked off to allow people to walk freely through the town, it was fantastic with live bands and samples of food and wine on every stall, the place was heaving with people and I thought what a pity it was that my Missionary friend wasn’t here today as he would have worn out his Rubik’s cube trying to convert the crowds. I spent some time going round the various stalls with everything from cheeses locally made through to wine from Hunter Valley, the latter I can vouch for as very good wine indeed though on my fourth visit for a free sample I was given a polite reminder that I hadn’t actually bought anything yet so felt obliged. I had one of their cheapest whites and then went back for two more tastings, just to prove I haven't lost my Shropshire upbringing where the word’s “Free” and the slogan “Fill your boot’s” are very much a fabric of society

After about four hours of this shindig I was finding it very hard to be meaningful about anything, just putting one foot in front of the other was a bit of a struggle so I thought I should retire to my apartment before I attracted the attention of the firearm carrying Police Officers. I slept like a log that Saturday night and woke up feeling quite good, so I looked out of the window and decided it was a good time to walk to the shops and get a coffee and some breakfast. No sooner had I started walking down the very quiet pavements than a drop of water landed on top of my head, followed by another one and so on, it had started to rain, so I rushed a little more but it rained a little more and then more again until the heavens opened without warning thus I found out local knowledge is always invaluable and this underlined the reason why no-one was outside, most of Manly knew it was about to rain (except me of course).

 Within seconds I was drenched to the point where it was running out of my underwear, no mean feat considering I wasn’t wearing any under my shorts. I darted for cover under the canopy of a massive hotel and there I stayed, for at least the next hour or two I can’t remember. The rain came down horizontally, vertically, sideways, cross ways you name it and the wind was enough to take you out to sea while still tied to the jetty let alone holding your ground without falling over. Apparently, so I am told this was not a storm, a storm is when you get thunder and lightning not just wind and rain but this was of little comfort to me as I stood wondering if I would ever be able to run for it from under the hotel canopy. In the end I decided that life was too short and just hoofed it to the shopping mall, after all I couldn’t get a lot wetter if I tried and in any case it was expected of me to be in the rain as I am British it’s what we do.

Dont worry it's not a storm....

.

 

Yours truly enjoying a small shower

I tramped around the mall in my soggy trainers and wet backside for about half an hour before it actually stopped raining outside and the sun once again dared to show its face. I stepped on to the now sun soaked pavement and headed for the ferry wharf and a caramel latte from Gloria’s coffee shop, all was soon OK with the world again as I stood on the quayside leaning on the sea rails steaming in the now very hot sunshine, talk about the sublime to the ridiculous.

 The start of June brought a move of apartments, I would not be sad to be leaving my little hide away which was basic in the extreme, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers. I met the new Apartment owner in the centre of Manly, his name was Jarmo and he and his family were from Finland originally and had decided to try the area for between three to five years to see how they got on but as that was almost thirty years ago I guess the question had been answered. He was a laid back easy going man and very typical of his countrymen, polite and very well-spoken and we chatted as we walked to the apartment, I told him of my writing exploits and he filled me in with some history of Manly as well as pointing out the best places to eat and great places to go and visit. We arrived at the huge building on Central Avenue and walked into the lobby and stepped into the lift,

“Your apartment is at the very top, the views are fantastic” He quipped.

Now that would normally get everyone else jumping with joy and running around like its Christmas but not me, yes you guessed it the top floor meant it was high. With some trepidation I followed Jarmo out through the lift doors and was almost immediately confronted by a ceiling to floor window on both sides of the building. I tried not to look and walked down the middle of the corridor so as to avoid falling to my death. We reached the apartment door and Jarmo opened up and we walked inside. It was a beautifully appointed apartment and I was taken aback as to how clean and neat it was, Jarmo showed me round and introduced me to the view… I didn’t faint, I wasn’t happy but I didn’t faint. I thanked my host as he left and closed the door, I then walked slowly to the huge windows that overlooked this beautiful town and peered down to the street below, I immediately headed back for the kitchen for fear of the floor giving away and yes me falling to my death, there seems to be a recurring theme here don’t you think?. It was high, in fact it was the highest building in Manly and I was on the top floor, I had visions of Edward Lewis in Pretty Woman peering over the edge and freezing to the spot, it was truly wasted on such a hopeless case as me but from in the kitchen the sea view looked terrific.

 I went up on to the roof to locate the washing machines later that afternoon and it was like a bush tucker trial made up of my worst nightmares, firstly the steps up to the roof had yet another window from ceiling to floor so as you walked up or down them it looked like you were walking into the street below so I pushed my back to the retaining wall and eased myself past it, then on the roof there was a wall all the way around at just over waist height, I had the hairs stood up on the back of my neck as I fumbled for the door to the wash room to hide in. I would have stopped there for good but I had no washing and no money for the machine so I had to brave those damned stairs again. For the rest of my stay I used a local launderette in the Town.

Chapter Three: When in Rome

I settled in to my new apartment very quickly despite the first few nights lying in bed worrying that the front of the building would collapse and I would fall to my death, (it does happen you know) so sleep was not that easy to obtain but I found as my stay went on I did actually get used to the height, I didn’t like it but I got used to it, that’s all I will admit to.  The first morning I awoke in my new dwellings was a revelation as while lying in bed I saw the sun rise up out of its Pacific Ocean water bed and climb into the clear blue sky. This was heaven for a poet and inspiration point for someone who writes, it was a scene the likes of which will stay with you until your dying day, magical as it was humbling to see our wonderful world we inhabit at its very best. I lay there and took photos in sequence as the sun rose, I am sure the locals would all have ignored it and just been getting on with their day but to me it was a fantastic sight.

The view over Manly bay from my bed....

Read and read again, then change it..the edit.

It seems over the past few weeks of writing I have had to deal with every emotion going, from elation at getting the green light to write for every hour of every day to the disappointment at finding out that your writing needs the mother of all edits before it's even seen the light of day. In the long run this will be of great benefit but your writing is very personal and I am probably, on my own admission a little bit too sensitive sometimes. This is to be expected as to put your heart and soul into your writing then you have to have that sensitivity and be able to portray it on to the page as you write, the problem with learning a new trade is keeping the work separated from real life.
I find the re-reading of page after page extremely tough and will be glad when I hand it over to a proof reader who knows far more about such tasks than I. Having done as much as I can and guided the story to its present state I feel I can do no more or offer any more input and the amount of work I have put into it is very tiring, not including the other work I am currently working on.  The idea I guess is not to get down-beat or too close to what you are producing, the very act of placing your work on to the open market means you must expect criticism and deal with it subjectively, the same goes for praise when you have done well, keeping your feet on the ground and getting the job done is still the most important thing.
I think the lesson's learnt over the past few month's would serve us all well in keeping our expectations within the realms of reality and our targets more reachable, that said if we played it by the rules every time I doubt man would ever have been to the moon or even flown, so perhaps a healthy mix of ambition coupled with the realisation that it may not all turn out just how you want it is the best solution.

Whisper it...

I actually managed to get out and go bowling in Shrewsbury this afternoon, may I be struck down where i stand for leaving my laptop :-) ..... forgotten what a day out was like !

From The Novella coming out on Kindle at the end of July.

Leave It To OZ

By

Dave James

Chapter One: A Flight Of Fancy

Heading down to Gatwick Airport one sunny Tuesday afternoon in the middle of May was definitely not on my busy agenda six months before, come to think of it three months before, but my wish to see the “Land of plenty” kept pushing me until I decided the call needed to be answered. In that 3 short months I had planned out and scheduled my foray over to Sydney Australia (Manly to be precise) and set my course for the adventure of a lifetime. But first (and if you are me this is a BIG first) I had to fly over there via Dubai and then on to Kingsford Smith International. That may be a fun filled time for the majority of the population but for me with my intense dislike of heights it was a huge call, add that to my mechanical knowledge about anything from hydraulics to gas cookers and you see why every noise creak or groan was an imminent disaster about to happen.

Despite this minor issue, I sat in Departures drinking my coffee on the second tier of Gatwick’s many restaurants feeling up for the adventure. It was just bravado, but I was intent on going and if that was the case I had to fly. I waited the three long hours to board and duly walked the “gangplank” to the plane, it was far bigger than any plane I had been on before, to those of you who rely on such information to make your life complete it was a Boeing 777 and it had two wings, that was very comforting for me I can assure you. I sat in my seat opposite a young Indian woman who was part of a family of four, I must have looked very threatening because within seconds of them realising she would be sat next to me they dumped their young lad in that seat, he must have been all of seven years old, I could almost hear their thought’s and I chuckled to myself, if I was unsafe for her to sit by why would the kid be any better off?  Anyway, we went through the drill of lifebelts and seat belts at which point I closed my eyes as I didn’t want to be reminded of crashing into the sea or falling out of the sky but thankfully we were soon taxiing down the runway and within seconds all the throttles let loose and we were airborne.

Now if you like flying, at this point you will be looking out of the window, organising your lunch and selecting your favourite movie. If, like me you are not so keen, the air hostess will be slowly peeling your fingers out of the seat cushion and pushing you back from the “brace for impact” position whilst slapping you across the face for shouting “We are all gonna die!” This done she smiled at me and asked me if I needed a drink. There is telepathic for you. All of a sudden this flying thing started to look a little more acceptable, I asked for a Scotch and smiled at her, I didn’t get this treatment last time I flew to Holland or France, a couple of stiff Whiskey’s and I will face a dog fight in a Spitfire let alone a seven hour flight on a Boeing. My excitement as you regular flyer's will know was very short lived as she came trotting down the aisle with a miniature bottle of dyed tap water matured and bottled in Kazakhstan. Whatever it was, it resembled Whiskey but that’s where the similarities ended. My bottom lip firmly in my lap I drank it anyway and another five before she said “No more sir”. The fact I could sink half a bottle of Teacher’s Scotch in a normal night’s drinking and still sing every word to “Sweet Chariot” while auditioning for Dancing On Ice should give you a clue that I was not even close to pissed, but the bar was now closed to Mr. James so I had to divert my attention elsewhere from the grumbling engines and flexing wings. That answer came very swiftly in the form of the on board entertainment, not the TV on the seat in front of me but my fellow passengers or more directly the one’s sitting by me. No the Indian female sat in the next but one seat hadn’t decided to do a belly dance, in fact she was sat with her head against the TV screen on the seat in front of her looking like she was praying, she may well have been but it was a little unnerving as to why and if she was did I ought to start? I got my answer when she was still there six and a half hours later, you guessed it she didn’t like flying either!

So, sat there I grabbed my headphones and looked at my TV selection. The seven year old next to me was busy watching some Indian cartoon and was chuckling and giggling away but also fidgeting. I hate fidgets, it’s a real pet hate of mine, topped with that he kept knocking my arm off the arm rest, I know it was his armrest but show some respect who is the adult here?  I duly scrolled through all the movies until I spied the perfect specimen, so I clicked play and sat back smugly waiting in anticipation. I was not disappointed, I chose “Pirates of The Caribbean at World’s End” simply because I knew damned well the little kid next to me would not be able to resist having a quick peek across at my screen. This of course was the case and before the first hour of the film was up he had joined his mother praying at the monitor in front of him he was so shit scared. I have to admit I sat back in my seat a little smug afterwards happy that the fidgeting had stopped, so I decided to take a nap.  Have you ever tried to nap on a plane? No seriously?  Well I couldn’t, it was impossible in between the bumps in the invisible air we were flying through and the seat belt warning “bong” coming on to warn us of immediate disaster and the smell of burnt sausage and scrambled egg getting delivered on a trolley that made more rattles than Fisher Price during the last tax year it was a non-starter. So with sleep out of the question I once again turned to my screen in front of me and selected a few episodes of “The Mentalist” it reminded of home as it was all repeats but at least it helped the time slip by and before I knew what was happening we were about to land in Dubai, the sheer terror on the Indian Woman’s face opposite me as we descended was unforgettable, only matched by that of her seven year old boy who would be having nightmares for weeks thanks to Captain Jack Sparrow and a vindictive Englishman.

If you have been used to farmers with wellington boots and holes in their jacket pockets wearing caps that don’t fit and bemoaning how poor they are then Dubai International will come as quite a culture shock. From the full height waterfall stretching some sixty feet in the air to the gold embossed hand rails on the escalators through to the ornamental pool full of Koi Carp and surrounding vegetation the place was a wonder to behold never mind venturing into the City itself. It was a most beautiful place and very well organised with shuttle trains between gates and young people walking around with “Can I help you” on their T shirts all of them more than able to guide you through this metropolis of an Airport. The shops stretched for half a mile and included every big name you could think of, even the clocks in the walkways were made by Rolex; It was like the Willy Wonka’s of bling.  I did however have to turn my mind to the next flight, I did try to imagine just what fourteen hours on an Airplane would be like given my history but being happy to have got the first seven hours over with was somewhat of a triumph itself so I headed for a coffee shop to celebrate my success at not having fallen from forty thousand feet to my death, yes honestly!.  Sitting at a Costa coffee I was asked if I wanted to plug my laptop in and did I know there was free airport Wi-Fi, all the things you would not expect from the same establishment in the UK. I sat down and let my long suffering Facebook buddies know that I was safe and sound on the ground in Dubai, oh and don’t forget Twitter. By the time I had done the rounds and let everyone know I was still breathing I was ready to go and line up for the next bout of flying.  I dragged my feet across to check in and looked out on to the runway; there stood the biggest aircraft currently flying passengers (Airbus 380) in the world, it looked huge and I was quite heartened by that fact as that meant less turbulence, surely?.

An hour later and we were airborne, the flight was half empty and I had no-one sat in any of the rows either side of me, so I keeled over and went to sleep, well I tried to go to sleep, I dozed and that was about it, it was 14 hours of hell and I hated it, but the means justified the end in my eyes, I think I may be more suited as a Mariner than a Pilot.  Thirteen hours and fifty minutes later we lined up for a landing in Kingsford Smith International Airport, we circled over the Harbour bridge and dropped on to the runway at five minutes past five in the morning and yes you guessed it, it was raining for England, only in Sydney.  Kingsford Smith is a lovely airport, very easy to get through and bright and clean, I skipped through customs and grabbed my case and a bottle of Whiskey from Duty Free (real whiskey), then headed for the Taxi rank. Out of the shelter of the Airport it was pouring with rain so I skipped over to a Taxi driver and said, “Hi there I am from the UK I want this motel please” the Indian Taxi driver looked at my address and pointed to a road bridge half a mile away, “Oh fuck that mate it’s only just over that road bridge it’s not worth me taking you”. I have to admit that was not the response I was looking for after twenty two hours of flying spread over two days, but I guessed the guy knew what he was talking about and I started my trek. Eventually I ended up at the back of a huge building now well and truly soaked to the skin, I asked a chap if he knew where the Motel was and he looked at the address, “Crikey mate it’s the other side of that foot bridge about a mile away, you will have to go under the walkway and then across the bridge, it’s about five hundred meters away from you on the right” I thanked him and walked on, the footbridge he had mentioned was actually part of a large highway and was full of traffic traveling at speed and with rain and traffic at speed comes spray, lots of it and I was now looking like a drowned rat. I reached the Motel and booked in, crashed on the bed and heard nothing for four hours.

I woke up and grabbed a small glass and reached for my Whiskey. That “wee dram” went down a treat, I was still in time for breakfast at the Motel as it was only Nine so I plodded down and headed for some food, the breakfast was luke warm bacon followed by luke warm beans followed by, yes you get the picture, I did think of taking it back to my room and doing CPR on it but I was just tired and hungry so I ate it and prayed for a quick death. Fortunately my Shropshire stomach is made of wrought iron so it digested the worst the Motel could throw at me with just the odd growl now and then, bless it.  More sleep was the order of the day so I napped until around three that day then donned my 02 England Rugby shirt and headed out to taunt the natives. I soon found out that the Motel was near the airport and the airport was near to, well not a lot, so I walked a few suburbs and streets and headed back to the relative safety of the Motel at which point I fell asleep only this time for the same length as my plane flight.

The next day I awoke feeling amazingly good, I even attempted a second breakfast on the premise that the first one was a fluke. I was correct, the first one was a fluke as this one was colder, in fact I called the waiter over and asked him to put it in the fridge for an hour to warm it up a little, somehow I don’t think the Asian guy quite got my Anglo Saxon sense of humour as he just smiled and said “OK” all the time. I gathered my case and bags after breakfast and headed for Manly, my outright destination, I skipped the Taxi idea as I didn’t want another soaking and headed for the train station next to the Airport. Fortunately the trains were bright, clean and on time and I was soon on the quayside in Sydney Harbour, complete with the Harbour Bridge and Opera House, as you can imagine the iPhone was out taking pictures faster than a whippet on linoleum and I was soon sending wonderful sights of Sydney at its best to my long suffering Facebook friends.
 With the excitement over I grabbed a Ferry ticket for seven dollars and took my seat on the “World Famous Manly Ferry”. Slipping past the Opera House I took more pictures and scoffed at the announcement about “lifebelts” under our seats, “It’s only a damned ferry” I thought. About fifteen minutes in to the Ferry ride I wondered just where we were going as to all intents and purposes we were heading out to sea and what was worse it looked bloody rough. I started to get a little worried at this point as we hit the swell at the entrance of the harbour and it was rolling the Ferry from side to side like a rag doll in a cement mixer, I looked out of one window to see the sea and no sky and the other window to see just sky, this was not the usual kind of Ferry ride I had experienced. Eventually we turned to the left and followed the swell into Manly Wharf which just gave you a feeling of your stomach hitting your pelvis after bouncing off your ribs. Feeling a little sea sick by now I wobbled off with my suitcase and laptop, my face looking greener than the boat I had just alighted from. A quick walk to the Taxi rank and I was outside my small hotel that I would be staying in to write my epic novel that will eventually earn me enough to retire on (ahem).

Booked in and ready for a look round I trotted on to the front of Manly beach, I popped into a coffee shop and sat down, this tall blonde lad came over and asked “Can I help you Sir?” “Yes please could I have a medium Latte?” “Coming right up Sir, by the way is that an England shirt under your jacket?” “Well yes it is I am keeping the faith for a few days” “Oh that’s great I am from Sheffield” he replied. With that we swapped life histories and I discovered he moved here twelve months ago with his family and he loves it, it was one of many such meetings with ex-pats that would come my way during my stay, we English seem to have adopted Manly as a second city and it’s not hard to see why.
 The next few days were set for writing and I stayed in for anything up to eight to ten hours a day putting fingers to keyboard. I shopped for food at Coles at the suggestion of the locals as it bought Australian goods to sell to Australians, somewhat of a cop out as it is owned by an Englishman and a Scotchman, but who was I to upset my new hosts?. I trotted off to the LiquorSave store and grabbed a bottle of wine and a bottle of Whiskey, (yes another one), I went up to the counter and the assistant said “Fifty seven dollars please” I dutifully grabbed my cash and just happened to look at the till, it clearly said fifty six dollars ninety eight cents, So, I handed her sixty dollars across and said “that says Fifty Six dollars and ninety eight cents on the till”. She smiled and opened the till up and placed some coins in my hand. I walked out and thought no more of it until I reiterated this to a local a while later who subsequently roared with laughter. Somewhat puzzled I inquired as to why she thought that was so funny? “No one bothers with the cents here sweetheart, we just round it up or down to the nearest five cents and she gave you the five cents to shut you up!”  She walked off still laughing and shaking her head, it seems it was another lesson learned.

In at The shallow end

It seemed a good idea at the time..or so I thought. So with that in mind I launched a book on Amazon Kindle yesterday, it is live now amazon.co.uk/dp/B00DRJ3OIQ   and I am filled with trepidation and a certain amount of excitement, I know I have been writing for quite a few years but of late everything seems to be gathering a pace, with two books in the offing and perhaps a series of books to be getting on with its a steep learning curve, I have written stuff for other people before but not on this scale with so many projects on-going.
I am not worrying too much because you live and die with the content and the ability to keep your reader amused and interested and even more importantly coming back for more!. I hope this little snippet gives you an insight into the thoughts I sometimes keep, not always constructive thoughts but always mine, I also intend to publish a 20k word novellete about my time in OZ for those who are not so poetry minded but like a bit of a giggle, it's definitely got a different slant on the normal trip :-) .. hope you enjoy the poetry book and let me know your thoughts as to whether it was worth your attention.

Speak soon !!

The Sunday Roast.

A bright sunny Sunday morning in the UK, not a statement you hear often, so perhaps I should be out enjoying the sunshine rather than sat here typing away.  The fact I have about as much motivation as a Premiership footballer at a press conference is blatantly clear, it will take some time to get back into the swing of things and adjust to the UK again, even more so because I don't really want to, I enjoyed Australia very much but I need to get my head down into some meaningful work, so I suppose like everything else in life you have to just get on with it.
During many trips abroad in the 90's I was lucky enough to see many other cultures and also different outlooks on life, in Germany for instance I met some very jolly folk with a zest for life and food (Oh and don't forget the beer!), whereas the Scandinavian Countries I visited found a sense of humour a little bit difficult to handle sometimes, well either that or my jokes haven't improved with age.
 I loved the Dutch attitude and i loved the beautiful clean cities in Holland, I didn't like the food that much though as if it didn't start with Ham or Cheese of some description it didn't seem to be on the menu, even breakfast. I suppose I can now add Dubai to my portfolio as I have made a flying visit or two, but it's a little difficult to get a taste for a Country in 12 hours, most of my memories of it were McDonalds or CostaCoffee, which i suppose is a little off the radar, though there is a certain amount of hilarity if you are Western born and bred like myself at seeing fully regaled Arabs queueing for a Big Mac.
Ireland is a wonderful place to visit if you do ever get the chance, I never went there on business but i did go rallying over there once to the town of Wexford. You will never find a warmer welcome anywhere in the world, our arrival at the Bed and Breakfast coincided with scones and tea while the family parked the cars and trailer, even a lack of batteries for the rally intercom was not an issue as the landlady calmly grabbed the clock off the mantelpiece and handed them over to us without batting an eyelid, despite our protests that we could probably manage!. If you top that off with their sense of humour then it takes some beating, oh and I was never David over there always Davey!, that made me smile.
For now I am back in good old Blighty, it ranks in my top ten of locations but I doubt now it would reside in my top 5, I feel that the UK is losing its sense of humour somewhat, the service is getting worse for most aspects of life, the roads are falling apart, the Health Service is almost on its knees and it needs to realise its status is far from where it was 20 years ago. But I guess my ramblings aren't that important as I am only a voice in the crowd, all 60 million of us.

So I will knuckle down and get on with finishing the novels I am writing, you never know, one best seller and i can choose the next venue from where I write, at the moment the choice is obvious and I would be heading down under five times a week and 3 times on a Sunday.  Watch this space.

Right, I am going to go and enjoy that strange ball in the sky we collectively know as "The Sun" (that's the one without Freddie Starr and his Hamster) and maybe even get a tan, though if i do get my shirt off i just hope the neighbours have their eyes well protected from the glare, or better still don't look, as I find my six pack has now started a two for one policy since I have been away so that is something else on my "to do" list, mmmmmm.... it could be a busy summer.
Keep safe and enjoy your Sunday folks!.

A son's thoughts.

The gentle breeze that ushers through
The chapel grounds as I stand true
To gaze upon my flesh and blood
With haunted thoughts past childhood

For though my father's mortal gaze
Has ceased now to the Lord we praise
To keep him safe and take good care
Until we too can meet him there.

A faith he held and never left
From straightest path now stands bereft
Of warmth that shone into our day
And filled those hearts that came his way

Now I must stand and prove my worth
As he had taught me from my birth
Stand straight and true and hold your ground
For there within true peace is found. 



 

Reaching new heights.

Having just landed from the other side of the world I have been suffering the usual after effects, feeling so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open and then back to almost ready to run a marathon, all very confusing for you and more so those around you, but I am here writing at home on a Saturday morning, not at the yard but at home, its a very strange feeling as we self-employed just don't see a Saturday to ourselves and mostly not even a Sunday!.  It would be nice to get used to it, but staff and finances wait for no mortal, I am sure it will be battle stations again soon enough, but for now I can at least imagine what it would be like to have a wage and a weekend.. bliss !.
As I write I am thinking of getting some treatment for my crazy fear of heights, it's something I have had all my life and trust me it really doesn't get better the older you get, I can manage the top of a long ladder no problem but when you go that extra couple of feet higher I feel like a jelly balanced on a toothpick. My hands shoot out to the nearest thing to hand, (so it's advisable you don't stand too close to me in a lift) and I freeze so well it makes Marcel Marceau look an amateur. It's very funny if you are stood watching me, especially the other day when I was in a flat that had ceiling to floor windows 9 floors up and i was glued to the door at the back as i didn't want to get close to the edge!.
 As you can imagine this is somewhat of a problem when one needs to fly. I would imagine I would be quite comical to observe as it's about the only time i am completely quiet, I don't fidget I just sit like a condemned man, on take off i close my eyes and pretend it isn't happening and then the pilot says "if you look to your right you will see Sydney Harbour Bridge..." No no no thank you Mr pilot just get us up high enough that I cant relate the height to the ground because of cloud cover, do not ask me to look out of the bloody windows for God's sake!.  I know this is crazy, because other people are going "ooooohhh look at that" while i am sat bolt upright with my head facing forwards and my eyes shut, oh yes you can laugh alright,  topping all this off, the new technology available on long haul planes means you can now activate cameras situated underneath the plane, or on the nose, so even if you are looking straight ahead and trying not to look if the guy next to you is watching said views you find your eyes wondering across to his screen, you simply can't get away from seeing outside now!.
So, I think perhaps i need some help in overcoming this irrational thought process, after all we know its not the fall that kills you its the ground. I am tempted to try hypnotism, after all my mind is always open to new things, but knowing my luck i would come out being able to climb the Empire State but start smoking 60 a day. The other way of getting over it I suppose is to address your fears like people do with a spider phobia, like holding a tarantula for 10 minutes or so, but I have been at 40,000ft for 21 hours so i can't see how that will work, just how much addressing do you need?.  The other way is to sit and talk to a shrink, (mmm I know what you guys are all thinking....) but I cant see how they could talk me out of a fear I have had all my life, or maybe I am doing them an injustice.
 Either way I am getting tired of what I can see is a totally irrational fear and if i know its irrational why can't I overcome it?. Perhaps some of you may have suffered with the same thing and can give me a few pointers on how you managed to conquer your fears!.

As I said its been a very calm Saturday, not like any Saturday I have had for many years, I have not been to the yard and looked around or worked, I have simply chilled and enjoyed the sunshine, something I had plainly forgotten was possible. There are many things I need to do and perhaps should be doing but for now this is some me time, no requirements other than be me. I like it. I recommend it. We all need that little bit of time to ourselves.

Gatwick Airshort.

I guess its a little unfortunate to land in Gatwick the day after you have been in Dubai International, well, unfortunate on Gatwick AND myself for that matter.
The extremes seen between Dubai's no expense spared philosophy and poor old Gatwicks no expense spent really highlights the difference between the economies of the two countries. There are toilets and prayer rooms about every 300 yards in Dubai, complete with attendants. I had to ask where the toilets were in Gatwick and was told to use the two disabled loos with huge doors next to the departures drop off point, I had to chuckle.
Instead of people walking around with "can i help you?" on their blue shirts as in Dubai you have the fluorescent "Don't speak to me I am important" bibs in Gatwick..oh and not forgetting son of Adolf patrolling the drop off point with his armband and ever present bib making sure you say goodbye to your loved ones within 15 seconds or you get a ticket, he even stood over the top of one family with his arms crossed and his foot tapping as they said their tearful goodbyes just in case they broke said rule.
It would be better not to ask me about the queue to passport control, it took longer than the flight from Dubai to get a casual look at my passport from someone who could barely speak English, ironic that his very smart Arabian counterpart spoke perfect English. Not to worry I thought, I can go get a coffee and a nice sandwich. Well no, you can get a Costa coffee and no sandwich, so from Dubai with more shops than you find in a city centre to 3 shops take it or leave it in Gatwick, what a total embarrassment, the ferry terminal on Manly has better facilities than this so called International Airport.
Still, all was not lost, the sun was shining and it was 5 degrees warmer in the UK than in Sydney, but no surprise it was 12 degrees cooler than in Dubai!. Surely we can beat those Arabs at something? well of course we can, the queues were bigger... for everything. By the time I had enjoyed a little stop and go fun on the M25 I was crying into my steering wheel in the knowledge i had returned to this third world country and am now planning to sneak back over to Dubai on Friday and seek asylum.

One thing that hasn't improved with age is aircraft food. I only took the top off the "scrambled egg and sausage" before hurriedly putting it back on in case i actually decided I may be hungry, as I did so i swear I heard it growl at me. The coffee should have been ordered by the slice and the water (of which you are reminded to drink plenty) was warmer than a firefly's armpit. The wonderful sky waitresses busied themselves and did their usual sterling job, but if you sit a little too far away from the trolly starting point you WILL lose out because they never return if they run out, something i noticed on more than one occasion, but knowing what was on the trollies I don't feel as if i was mistreated in any way!.
 On the return from Dubai just over the Black Sea we hit some turbulence, this continued in bursts of 10 minutes or so until we reached the Channel, another reason i was happy I fought to put the lid back on my scrambled egg and sausage as seeing it more than once would have been a frightening prospect even for the hungriest of weary travelers.
So, all in all it was a fantastic time in Oz, even though a lot of that time was spent inside writing my first novel and editing, I thoroughly reccomend going if you get the opportunity and Dubai is worth it as the first stop if only for the spectacle of that amazing airport, it is however a stark reminder of just how blaze we have become in the UK about our world status, we are not even close, sorry Gatwick no cigar, in fact not even a tatty old roll-up.

Dubai (DXB) Int. lounge area.

Away..

Dress it up how you like, use the ubiquitous English 'stiff upper lip' but farewell is still farewell.  I am heading back to England within the next few hours and that wonderful British summer my friends keep reminding me of, the truth is I will miss this part of the world. It has grown on me and I am finding it a tough move to say goodbye. The up side is i have two wonderful smiling faces that light my heart up and send it soaring into space to catch up with when I get back, they have been very busy with SATS tests and Karate and parties with friends etc but all the time I wrestle with their absence.
It has been a very deep searching hard fought time out here, I have completed a book and half way finished a second, albeit with much more editing to be done on both, I expected nothing less as the road to producing anything worth while is never a short one. I sometimes wish my mind was not quite so active and deep, it makes life so very difficult at times, almost like a curse, but in reality I know it's a gift that I should learn to  harness better than I have been doing. The rain is hitting the apartment window as darkness descends here in Manly, I am seeking all the positives from the trip and trying to look on the bright side, I would be lying if i said i was finding it easy. But life goes on.

So, I must also tackle the back log of work and enquiries that no doubt sits on my desk in Shropshire, it is just another part of life that must be addressed, I appreciate that and the opportunity to come out to Sydney and be creative and take time out will never be under sold to me, I am so fortunate i can scarcely believe my good fortune, but when you have had something so precious its very hard to let it go.. very hard.
I will be blogging from the UK in the next 48 hours, that in itself will feel strange but i have many family and friends to catch up with, so I guess that will soften the blow of exiting such a beautiful country.

Thank you for your attention OZ, thank you for the welcome and your great hospitality which has been the warmest I have known from any country i have been to. You can adopt me any time :-)).

Dubai International featuring a carp pool, (Koi of course)