Hugs and Kisses for the New Year.

I usually have a bit of a dilemma around Australia Day as I like fireworks, but hate the unAustralian behaviour that manifests itself amongst the crowds who populate the South Perth foreshore. 

All too thankfully the family discovered the City of Canning Fireworks a good many years ago, and now all is right with the world. We missed them last year being in Europe, but got to see them in 2014, so I was looking forward to them this year. 

West Australian Wildflowers - Wireless Hill

Dad was the one who discovered that the native orchids were in bloom at Wireless Hill, and it being Father's Day, he decided that that was the perfect place to spend the morning. 

C.Y.O'Connor Beach

Off South Beach

Being located on the water, Fremantle is a port after all, one of the things I like to do while house sitting in the area is to head down to C.Y.O'Connor Beach to explore the wrecks and memorial, and watch the setting sun.

My first venture down,several years ago now, had been purely accidental; arriving at South Beach an hour before sunset, I didn't feel like hanging around and so rode south, past the cattle slip lanes before climbing over the sand dues and onto the beach. There, about 50 metres off the coast, partially submerged in the waves, is a statue of a man on a horse. It is the memorial to C.Y.O'Connor who committed suicide off this beach in 1902.

O'Connor is one of this state's great engineers. He is responsible for the transformation of Fremantle Harbour into the commercial success it is today and for the pipeline that transported water from the Perth hills to Kalgoorlie to support the growing gold rush.

An Open Garden plan

Just the other weekend, Mum and I disappeared off to Fremantle to check out a private garden opened to the public as part of Open Gardens Australia.

Sculptures by the Sea - 2015

I know it finished a couple of weeks ago but I've been busy, or lazy...

Mum and I headed down on the final afternoon to check out the sculptures and in my case, critique some of them at least. 

The weather was beautiful, neither too hot nor too windy, in fact, perfect for wandering across the sand and then rewarding ourselves with frozen yoghurt. 

Illuminated Rabbits of the South Perth foreshore

I first saw the rabbits in London, in and around Royal Festival Hall. One of them lay outside the door lazily ignoring the stream of people entering the hall. The others were indoors (out of the rain) wedged into the foyer between the pillars and cantilevered upper levels.
Though they had space, they still managed to look cramped and somewhat bored.

Recently, and somewhat appropriately,  they migrated to Perth and are spending this week on Sir James Mitchell Park enjoying the fresh air and views of the city. Managed by a number of staff, they are open to the elements and to the visitors who swarm all around them and crawl between their front legs.

Historical Musings of a Renovator*

Having recently project managed the renovation of my grandfather's house, I found myself discussing some of the discoveries I'd made with some girlfriends over breakfast, and we wondered over the interconnection of various elements of the house.

When I had been receiving quotes for new carpet in the bedrooms, upon measuring the bedrooms the salesman had emphasised the ease of the laying due simply to the size of the room. A rectangular room, it possessed standard dimensions that were also the standard measurements for the carpet we were intending to lay. It seems a roll of carpet is made with a width of 360cm/12ft (the exact measurement may differ slightly) which is the standard width of the bedrooms in Federation houses.

This interesting coincidence led to the series of questions of whether it was in fact a coincidence or actually a causal relationship.

Had the standard width for carpet become 360cm because of the room size? 
Why had 360cm become the standard room width? It seems an unlikely number, so was it based upon the maximum or standard length of the ceiling beams, or the ultimate width of the house (eaves, two rooms and a corridor between)?

It's unlikely that the carpet width came first with the rooms built to fit. That's just not the order in which most houses are built. In addition, initially the houses were possibly not designed to have fitted carpet; the underlying Jarrah floorboards and removable rugs would have been far easier to maintain. It makes sense that carpet would have become a standard feature later and if the majority of rooms are this one size, then why not weave the carpet to fit, without the need for cutting and adding and fitting together.

But if the majority of homes had rooms of this one size, then what was it that had determined this measurement as the standard room size?

Even in this day and age where houses seem to almost be rolled out on a production line there is still enough variation in the size of rooms. So why did 360cm/12ft become the standardised measure? Or how?
Is the room size based upon the length of ceiling beams? Across one room, or across the whole house? Or is it instead related to another element of the house's construction that I haven't even considered? Something must have determined this specific measurement over say 10ft, but I'm at a loss to determine what it might have been.

This initial subject lead to another one.

Why are the ceilings of Federation houses so high?

Now it is most definitely not a standard feature and yet then, 100 years ago it was. It was almost guaranteed not to have been the result of cost; they were more likely to have been lowered again to save on costs. In addition, in the earliest days, if costs were of greatest concern the doors would have been scarcely higher than the owners and the ceilings barely higher again.

I wonder if the tall ceilings are due instead to the Australian climate in which they are built. For they would enable the unfamiliar (and unbearable) heat to rise away from the inhabitants and slip out through the ornate holes in the upper wall.

This would seem somewhat of an illogical move given that in the winters the idea would have been to conserve what existing warmth there was (particularly given how cold Federation houses can be) as opposed to letting it rise and escape outside.
But perhaps then practices were different.
The houses were furnished with at least one fireplace and wood to burn would have been readily available. Besides, most of the early settlers probably hailed from the United Kingdom and so would probably felt far more at home in the cold misery of winter.

*title courtesy of Miranda 

20 Minutes Out (Whistlepipe Gully)

Family friends are disappearing off to Germany for a sabbatical and so last weekend they dragged us on a bushwalk to Whistlepipe gully. Located this side of the hills, barely 20 minutes out of Perth, Mundy Regional Park/Whistlepipe Gully with the requisite water course for J (the 9 year old), rocks to ramble over for those who eschew the beaten track, and native flowers for the photographers.

Despite the reaction of the garden to this beautiful weather, we naturally assumed that the native flowers would not yet be out. So imagine our delight to be able to point out a collection to rival those in Mum's back yard.
Thankful that I had brought my camera, I quickly trailed behind the others (including J who was in search of water and a lunch spot), but was glad to catch the quirkiness of the native flowers in the sunshine.

Crawling up an embankment to photograph a pseudo Scottish thistle (this one not a Dryandra I'm told)...

... and the view back down the valley...

I stumbled upon an outcrop of Donkey Orchids which I think sent a cry of delight though our group and directed our eyes towards finding more for the duration of the day. 

While this spot had the water J was after, it  was scarcely two minutes from the car, and so did not qualify as a suitable lunch spot. 

Following the gully upstream we often had the roar of a waterfall or gurgle of the stream, or on one particular occasion the joy of being five billy goats gruff tramping over the bridge of a J troll ready to hurl mud pies at each and every one of us. 

Wandering off the beaten track and away from the onslaught of waves of dogs, we discovered more wonders, many of which I was visually familiar with, even if I had no clue as to the plant's name or family.
Often, the raw and striking beauty and sharp colour, a flash in an otherwise dusky landscape, were enough to catch my interest.

Something that almost looks like an edelwiess orchid with every petal covered in a downy white fur.

Something cool and alien-like

More donkey orchids though these looked bigger and slightly different from the ones we had encountered earlier.

A kangaroo paw (or relative) illuminated in the sunlight.

A colour combination I always refer to as Eggs & Bacon, but possibly a different plant. 

A Hovea (known simply because Mum kept pointing it out)

Something delicate

As is typical of the Australian bush, there were fallen trees and branches throughout the scrub, some big, some small, some beautifully decorated by nature, the presence of termites being the only thing keeping us from contemplating carrying it home.

In other places the scars of an old forest fire still remained. 

A sea of green and gold the spiky wattle carpeting a small corner of the valley.

A miniature world on the side of logs, along the length of cracks, or dipping down the side of granite boulders.

Looking down onto the Perth plain with the city in the distance.

I forget we have such beautiful places on out doorstep. 

Missing Manners

Otherwise known as 'Crude Men Who Need to be Removed from the Gene Pool'.

No I'm not being feminist, or pessimistic, or whatever else you want to call it, other than opinionated and brutally honest. I just get fed up of having to deal first hand with the objectification of women me. And I'm not being over dramatic, or egotistically in hoping that this male attention is directed at me.

I know it is. They make it obvious enough, possibly because they think it a compliment.

Let me describe myself; I'm intelligent, witty, I can hold lengthy conversations that go beyond 'small talk' and actually discuss matters of interest and importance. I am not lacking a sense of humour and can talk absurdities for hours on end with good friends. I have many talents, many skills, and many hobbies, with a healthy streak of creativity.

However, I am tall, attractive, neither overweight nor underweight, with a penchant for wearing 4inch heels and clothes that skim my hour glass figure.  And I have a naturally large set of breasts.

Unfortunately, this second description can all too easily overshadow the former and result in some horrible situations that I shouldn't have to be skilled at dealing with.


Situation 1: It's a Friday night and we're at my Grandfather's wake, at the Leopold Hotel where he had once worked as the accountant. The entire family is there celebrating his life, and mourning his death. We have just come from his burial and a traumatic week before that organising his funeral. I walk up to the bar to get drinks for myself and my mother, and a comment is directed at me:

"You have a great pair of tits." 

As though this is a great statement to pick me up. As though this is a suitable statement to make at any time or in any place, in this day and age.
It's not a fact he's verbalising, for he did not say 'you have a big pair of tits' (fact, but no more acceptable, might I add). He provided his opinion with regards to my body and then verbalised it... in my ear.
Standing at a bar, regardless of what I am wearing, regardless of what I am drinking, or how many drinks I have already had, I should not have to hear such a comment directed at me or any other person in the room. I should not have to not register shock at what I have heard and I should definitely not have had to learn how to ignore such comments.


Situation 2: Mum and I are walking through Naples in the middle of summer. As a result we are dressed for the heat. I was not in a skimpy top and hot pants, just short shorts and a loose-fitting summer top that covered my shoulders and my bust (I am modest, and prepared for crude comments). Walking down the main street back to the train stations, we pass by groups of men who make very suggestive comments towards me or about my appearance. Some are touting for customers for the restaurant at which they waited. Others are just hanging around. When they get no response from their sleazy comments said in Italian, they switch to other languages including English hoping that I might be able to understand some of the filth they are uttering.
Mum is freaked out as she could understand everything they were saying or suggesting about her daughter. I think she is also freaked out because I didn't bat an eyelid for the entire duration of the walk. Nor did I say a word. I had simply experienced enough of it over the years to be able to turn a blind eye to it all. I had enough experience to be about to act as though I had not understood a single word they had uttered and had no idea of the sexist filth they were saying.

Unfortunately it was filth they can get away with saying because there were no recriminations. I (probably like most women) have not the strength to deal with it physically and so simply ignore it completely. As a result, they continue their disgusting behaviour and I become more comfortable with the idea of remaining a Spinster Aunt.

A Crisp Afternoon Out.

What with it being a public holiday here, Mum decided we needed an afternoon out.
Dad and Meri had visited the Core Cider House several months ago and had repeatedly informed us of their enjoyable visit, so this time we decided it was about time we visited it for ourselves... particularly given our penchant for cider.

Though a little crisp out, we settled down on the verandah and quickly ordered a tasting plate of cider while we perused the menu. 

Ranging from extra dry to super sweet, with a sparkling lemon sans sweetness tacked on the end. 

Made from apples, pears or both, the Core ciders range from 'made from the skin and core without the flesh' dry to 'the sweetest part of the sweetest variety of pear'. However none of them could have been described as full bodied, each one completely missing an after-taste or even lingering flavour. 

Sadly, the best of their ciders was probably the mulled cider which was a semi-sweet apple cider enhanced with cloves, nutmeg and honey. 

Having settled on our ciders we chose the food and quickly got stuck in. 

Warm Brie: Thyme & garlic infused brie served warm with caramelised apples. toasted almonds & crispy Turkish bread.

Cheese platter: Picolin fromage de chevre (Fr), Capel Club cheddar (WA), Arrigoni Gorgonzola (It), served with persimmon jam, apple crisps, toasted almonds and water crackers.

Rabbit & Fig Pate: Creamy rabbit pate set on CORE fig & cabernet jam, accompanied with pickled carrot, caramelised sultanas & crispy Turkish bread.

Wedges: with sour cream and sweet chilli sauce.

Being little piggies, we dove in and devoured the lot, washed down with a few hot drinks (see the mulled cider above), before a short wander through around the cultivated lawn area alive with shrieking kids.

To our good fortune, though heavy black clouds loomed, they skirted us allowing us views across the sun dappled orchards.

It was an enjoyable afternoon and I think another visit needs to be in order, with a friend or two (and designated driver) in tow.