tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58699451851221016232012-02-28T06:53:43.176ZIsabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.comBlogger1091100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-46540606145159289112012-02-23T14:19:00.000Z2012-02-23T14:19:36.322Z

Regular readers will remember how much I hate packing.  It is time.  I've been putting it off all day and I can't put it off any longer. We leave tomorrow morning (before breakfast), back to London to visit the Professors again, I'm afraid (wish me luck). I am a tiny bit concerned that Ratty will do another mystery-disappearing act, but as we will only be away for a week, I hope he stays put. 

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-22624767499677995512012-02-19T06:34:00.000Z2012-02-19T06:34:35.834Z

I live on a large compound of about 225 houses.  The occupants are highly educated professionals, mostly employed in the energy sector.  Some of the spouses are school teachers, some nurses, one is a judge, there are bank managers and accountants and retired engineers.  People you would expect to be informed and conscientious about all sorts of things.  My neighbour has two teenage children who

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-61075930922646972452012-02-15T14:34:00.000Z2012-02-15T14:34:15.012Z

Is it any wonder I struggle to get things done? x

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-24435281827256463912012-02-14T06:48:00.000Z2012-02-14T06:48:18.124Z

Ratty has made himself at home again very quickly.  For those of you new to the Ratty saga, he was a street cat who we had been feeding and looking out for with his little sister 'LG', formerly Little Guy, since September 2010.  They were a particularly appealing pair due to their mutual devotion and long-standing companionship. Then in early October 2011, Ratty was found with what appeared

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-74374012656016137302012-02-11T09:26:00.000Z2012-02-11T09:26:27.564Z

This time I can say it! Last week it was my birthday.  Marius asked what would I like as a present.  I replied, I'd just like Ratty to come home again, I miss him. We all knew that we would not see him again.  He'd been missing for three weeks, he'd had two life-threatening 'neurological meltdowns', and there had been the poison on the golf course.  I had almost begun to say goodbye to the

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-71692722344201838612012-02-05T08:12:00.000Z2012-02-05T08:12:50.449Z

You will all know how truly childish I am, when I tell you of the jigs I danced this weekend, the weekend of the Golf Tournament.  The weather here in paradise has been appalling:  dust storms with low visibility, high winds, cool temperatures.  Yeah!!  They had to cancel play on Friday because of the conditions and although they have persevered, it has Not been a success.  (If you haven't been

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-69032990597729291982012-02-02T06:13:00.000Z2012-02-02T06:13:44.990Z

Last weekend we went grocery shopping and bought ourselves a new fridge, as you do.  We've lived with rubbish appliances for over four years here and finally gave up.  The compound was originally conceived for the other multi-national, most of whose employees come from a land of huge white household appliances with bizarre current/voltage arrangements.  To make these folk feel at home, special

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-82603171777660374002012-01-31T05:24:00.000Z2012-01-31T05:24:36.872Z

I am grateful that my readers are so passionate about the subject of feral cats and the proper treatment of them.  But I have not been clear, I see now, and readers that are not familiar with this blog may not appreciate the situation here, so please let me clarify (not that I expect to change any minds). I live in a desert.  It is probably a place that you can barely imagine.  In the summer the

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-56627293330924073412012-01-29T13:54:00.000Z2012-01-29T13:54:25.749Z

Our neighbour, the golf club, is having a big tournament this weekend. I suppose peacocks and feral cats are untidy. A week or so ago, we had 16 feral cats, well-fed and loved.  So far, LG has survived.  My friend R, who gave her succour during her post-op recovery, is going to try to catch her and keep her at home in protective custody. Last night there were 4 cats. Two more bodies were

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-45537925179951374962012-01-22T08:59:00.000Z2012-01-22T08:59:08.645Z

Thursday's newspaper had 'Road Deaths' as its leading article.  On the same front page, was a commercial press release, masquerading as 'news', about a wonderful demonstration of an F1 car for the public.   That happened on Saturday, closing down the city centre and encouraging more hoonism. Today's paper had a report on the excitement, detailing the 300 km/hr speed achieved on what is normally

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-32195211770015586842012-01-19T05:27:00.000Z2012-01-19T05:27:32.568Z

I've stopped leaping up at every unidentified voice now.  I oscillate between acceptance and hope.  Eventually I will possibly stop hoping and resign myself to acceptance, but so far, I keep hoping (pace Seneca). Ratty was last seen, full of beans and energy, the morning before we returned to Exile.  My domestic assistant gave him and the other cats their breakfasts and then let them all out

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-90101889103293873402012-01-16T06:27:00.000Z2012-01-16T06:27:24.811Z

In my post Driving Home    I mentioned lamingtons.  There is a wonderful bakery at Holbrook, on the Hume Highway, roughly midway between Sydney and Melbourne, which is famous for meat pies and lamingtons.   Many years ago, when we still lived in Sydney, both Marius and I worked full time.  With two small children, and restricted leave, we struggled to manage the holidays.  Our generous parents

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-61337043915321512192012-01-11T06:40:00.000Z2012-01-11T06:40:37.560Z

Not. I have unpacked my bag.  A breakthrough. I didn't sleep much last night, in spite of staying up ALL day and finally succumbing to the delights of my sheets at about 8 pm.  I slept and woke and slept and worried and didn't sleep and worried.  Not only about the still missing Ratty, but also about the not-so-well Prima.  Who would live 12,000 km away from their children?  I don't recommend

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-89642366158441796812012-01-10T13:57:00.000Z2012-01-10T13:57:17.883Z

This morning Marius and I landed back in Exile (also known as the sandbox, the litterbox and by other more or less affectionate names).  A fourteen hour flight and an eight hour time change do not make for bright sparky people, even if they travelled in comparative luxury and were able to 'sleep' for some of the duration. Our flight was half an hour late landing because the pilot had to make a

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-81898791506142078222012-01-08T12:23:00.000Z2012-01-08T12:23:09.438Z

Last Thursday, we came back to Melbourne.  Marius dropped Prima and me at the airport at Newcastle and we flew home in an hour and a half, while he and Primus drove the buggy back down the Hume Highway, arriving some 12 hours after we did. We do not consider ourselves royalty who -- perhaps it is a modern legend? -- are reputed not to travel all on the same plane, rather, Prima had an

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-44710154135571321452012-01-03T23:38:00.000Z2012-01-03T23:38:43.869Z

The idea of 'home' is so fraught for an exile.  Where or what is home?  There is that trite expression: home is where your heart is, and like all such expressions it touches on truth but doesn't really mean anything.  Well not to this lost soul.  My heart is where Marius is, always.  But then, there are the children, like any mother, they hold pieces of my heart fast in their grip.  There are my

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-4370792083719267782011-12-20T09:36:00.000Z2011-12-20T09:36:03.142Z

I have always suspected that cats had powers we mere humans could not comprehend:  they can hear a refrigerator door open at 100m; they can identify those who are uncomfortable around felines and head straight for them; they can leap huge walls at a single bound;  and they can see into the future.  My cats  can see into the future and DO NOT like what they see.  I haven't taken my suitcase

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-83951287547141909742011-12-17T15:42:00.000Z2011-12-17T15:42:55.260Z

Don't wring your hands in anxiety - the cats are all well and flourishing. Little Guy (LG) is growing fuzz where she was shaved for her operation.  Her wound is healed and she is her normal bouncy self.  She continues to neglect her kittens and cast herself at the tomcats.  She is of no interest to them (thankfully!) which is good for her long-term health, even if she is suffering from

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-36071498127596009712011-12-06T09:16:00.000Z2011-12-06T09:16:38.829Z

LG spent a few days at my friend's spa recuperating from her operation.  We had planned to keep her in protective custody until after her follow-up visit to the Vet on Wednesday afternoon.  However, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, she had been feeding her kittens - and by last night her mammaries were full of milk. This morning, protesting even more than during her first inelegant

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-29060615129344867052011-12-04T10:56:00.000Z2011-12-04T10:56:52.108Z

I've written before about the lovely and unique relationship demonstrated between two street cats - Ratty and LG - who I've known and fed, cared for and loved, for about 15 months. They are litter-mates and are always together.  Even when LG is seeing suitors, she makes time for Ratty.  We've had more rain lately and it has been unseasonably cold.  This last week while Ratty has been ill,  LG

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-13124273829863317472011-11-30T09:21:00.000Z2011-11-30T09:21:13.781Z

Our young friend is slowly regaining his strength.  He is following the pattern he set the first time he had his 'head injury' and gradually, he is recovering control. Similarly to his first episode, the improvement has started at his head - his vision returned, control of his tongue (so that he can lap water and lick) - and now his front paws can almost bear his weight.  His thermostat has

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-51545639270343074292011-11-25T10:05:00.000Z2011-11-25T10:05:41.824Z

I think we have been here before: Ratty this morning Ratty went to visit Dr Rhett last night.  He had a thorough going over, a blood test and his temperature taken.  The Vet thinks his 'head injury' has somehow recurred - or rather the effects of it.  Maybe scar tissue, maybe a small bleed.  Maybe, maybe.  An MRI might answer some questions but that is not available (or choke, choke,

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-6509584751809202592011-11-24T05:18:00.000Z2011-11-24T05:18:57.447Z

I wish this was simply a plea for more readers gripped by the saga of my friend Ratty. I was so tempted last month to head a post 'Miracle on 5th Avenue' but resisted thinking that would be asking the gods, the fates, the gremlins ... for trouble. Ratty made a full recovery from his 'head injury' and his neutering operation.  He hadn't rebuilt his muscle bulk because, we thought, he was

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-36661468206902612782011-11-21T11:02:00.001Z2011-11-21T14:21:18.627Z

In this case four:  3 to build the scaffolding and 1 to plug the bulb in: I know they are only doing their job (at my request) and following the rules, BUT they are all wearing safety boots, hard hats, industrial gloves and are carrying goggles (and no doubt hearing protection).  This is my house, and they are CHANGING A LIGHT BULB.  So far it has taken 30 minutes to build the scaffold ... (

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-41772794640539273282011-11-21T07:31:00.001Z2011-11-24T12:58:53.227Z

Sorry, I am going to sound like a spoilt princess.  I know it is difficult, if not impossible to entice tradesfolk to your abodes.  I know in the real world, you pay oodles for a job, wait for the expert to arrive, call again when he (usually he?) doesn't show.  Take another day off work waiting.  Mop the floor because the tap still leaks, or whatever.  Dear Reader, I sympathise.  I loathe

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-31183662247466881632011-11-13T10:57:00.001Z2011-11-13T15:56:20.776Z

It is a beautiful morning in London, Remembrance Sunday.  HM the Queen will be laying the first wreath at the Cenotaph in Whitehall in a few minutes.  Somehow, it seems almost irreverent for the sun to be shining; no doubt the dignitaries must be grateful that there is no howling wind, no frost and no battling umbrellas. On Friday morning we stood in Trafalgar Square with hundreds of others

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-61655778594234377252011-11-07T05:32:00.000Z2011-11-07T05:32:10.411Z

We are having our first rain since ?April, ?May ...  not only rain, but thunder too.  Naturally, I didn't cover the cushions last night or bring any in, so they are soggy and coated with the cement-like muck that results from months of dust and no rain. It is nearly 8 o'clock and I have the light on (we are not far north, so this is unheard of).  It is coolish - about 23 - and my hair has

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-28033109160354495272011-11-04T10:01:00.000Z2011-11-04T10:01:04.199Z

Shadows and the familiar ... That is 'Black Tom' who is LG's boyfriend.  A fine and muscular chap, surprisingly friendly ...  no no NO! x

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-17172780157211339962011-11-03T15:54:00.000Z2011-11-03T15:54:12.054Z

Life has got complicated since we returned to Exile in mid-September.  As you may recall, our long term resident cats, Macc and Ming were disturbed in their naps by the change in circumstances of Miss Beowulf, who moved from months of doorstep sitting to 'resident' status. Ming has always been a shy retiring sort of Princess, but latterly she has taken to lurking upstairs in cupboards: and

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-57688970579876902042011-10-30T17:24:00.001Z2011-10-31T09:56:11.430Z

post-op convalescence

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-37687216696085787972011-10-29T09:29:00.000+01:002011-10-29T09:29:57.072+01:00

Last week, we celebrated the Thai festival of Loy Krathong here in Exile.  Traditionally this annual festival is when Thais pay their respects to the water spirits, to ensure clean and abundant water for the coming year; and to 'float away' their sins and cares of the past year.  This fesitval is particulalry poignant today  as you would be aware, Thailand and now Bangkok, are suffering from

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-83326899729369096792011-10-24T10:11:00.000+01:002011-10-24T10:11:55.463+01:00

Indeterminacy of paw:

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-51932279058842616402011-10-23T06:43:00.002+01:002011-10-23T06:43:00.142+01:00

The association for the accompanying spouses and family has organised a toy drive for some local charities.  I despatched Marius to buy something suitable while he was doing the grocery shopping (usually we do this together but yesterday morning I was not well enough to go out).  These two heroes were selected by my tough, scary husband: The toys are for children in an orphanage who do not

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-2656911610178192082011-10-22T16:36:00.000+01:002011-10-22T16:36:41.065+01:00

We went out to a swanky Thai restaurant last night with friends.  It was a lovely evening allowing us to dine al fresco. At 8 o'clock, the place was empty.  Most people seem to dine quite late, with the restaurant not filling up until after 9 pm (which is usually my bed time).  I decided I couldn't cope with a late night and alcohol, so I chose one of the jewel-like 'mocktails' from the menu:

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-64034449746206993842011-10-21T08:44:00.000+01:002011-10-21T08:44:08.055+01:00

Remember Ratty, half dead? He's doing very well thank you. Yesterday, we were sitting in the garden, listening to the fountain, sipping wine in celebration of Thursday.  Ratty's ambulance driver was visiting.  She was suitably impressed with the transformation in his health.  He tried to show off by jumping on the windowsill and missed.  His hind legs have not yet regained their strength,

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-6540387113904461192011-10-20T10:36:00.000+01:002011-10-20T10:36:00.328+01:00

but it isn't.  (Strictly speaking, 'I wish this were me' is correct but sounds rather affected, don't you think?) x

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-72796422044759838092011-10-17T08:12:00.000+01:002011-10-17T08:12:40.786+01:00

Ratty visited the Vet on Saturday afternoon and was pronounced healthy.  The Vet was amazed at Ratty's progress.  We've made an appointment for two weeks' time for his little op.  He was the best behaved cat getting into the carrier, travelling and being a patient at the Vet of any cat we've ever taken before. I can hear the chorus of 'I told you so' streaming through the ether and can feel

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-74358662122046509252011-10-16T10:50:00.000+01:002011-10-16T10:50:07.491+01:00

It is autumn here in Exile-land.  The days are growing shorter and the temperature is finally dropping, a little (26-38 yesterday).  Not the season of mellow fruitfulness, but we did have our first mist (fog?) of the season this morning: Pretty, isn't it? It is a strange place we live in.  The 'project' is nearly complete and most of the construction staff are gone, leaving many empty

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-31177123520880615842011-10-14T10:28:00.000+01:002011-10-14T10:28:19.827+01:00

I was quite worried about Ratty yesterday.  About 4 o'clock, after being tempted with hand-offered turkey slices, he emerged from seclusion and had a big bowl of cat-crunchies and a drink of water.  He spent the evening on the lawn, chatting and being patted, and showing off his new walking skills.  He can manage 2 metres or so and then needs a little sit (I know it well!) but he is walking

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-79040508400519517432011-10-13T06:24:00.000+01:002011-10-13T06:24:35.377+01:00

I've closed the HDU (High Dependency Unit) because Ratty has moved to the garden.  He's now somewhere between walking and hop-along but definitely mobile.  Time lapse photography (sort of?): I wanted to call this post Miracle on 5th Avenue but I haven't.  One, because I think that might be bad karma, and two, my cat-radar is confused.  I am not entirely convinced that Ratty is 'all

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-22471014064362090642011-10-12T07:15:00.001+01:002011-10-12T07:16:40.034+01:00

We are considering renaming Mr Ratty Mr Lazarus. This morning when Marius got up, Ratty's bed was empty: we looked behind the curtains and under the bed, but then Marius spotted him: Ratty is recovering from a serious 'cranial trauma'  (nasty bump on the head) and his hind paws are not back to normal.  Yesterday he could sit himself upright unaided: but how did he get to the bears?   I

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-35397428976299531542011-10-10T07:02:00.000+01:002011-10-10T07:02:06.844+01:00

Seven days ago, we found Ratty unable to move --- Look at me: Look at me: Look at me now! The last photo is a bit of a cheat as I had to lift him up into this position, but his front paws are strong enough to hold him like that for a few minutes.  We are doing physio-practice-standing and Ratty tries to take a few steps while I hold him up - all the instincts seem to be intact. See

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-81059776203595466172011-10-09T08:51:00.000+01:002011-10-09T08:51:48.334+01:00

We are making progress, snail-like, determined.  Ratty has finished his course of antibiotics.  I am still force-feeding him the 'recovery' vet food, but half his meal is now 'sardines in aspic' which he eats himself.  Eats is perhaps too polite.  He practically inhales it, he likes it so much.  the 'sphynx' position, head up! His neck and shoulders are getting stronger and he will happily

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-48776223112232979672011-10-08T09:05:00.000+01:002011-10-08T09:05:53.262+01:00

We are seeing some more encouraging signs of progress in Ratty's condition. Yesterday, when I turned him onto his belly and propped his legs apart (so he wouldn't roll over), he kept his head up himself and ate some fish and jelly from the plate: Each meal now consists of the 'recovery food' which I still squirt into his mouth with the syringe, followed by a plate of fish jelly and now

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-3083485625757926062011-10-07T05:38:00.000+01:002011-10-07T05:38:12.049+01:00

 Wolfe in the salad bowl Not quite sure how she got up there, but Wolfe is still trying to find a place that can be 'her' territory. x

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-12265082119816000142011-10-07T05:31:00.001+01:002011-10-07T05:42:48.889+01:00

Thank you for all your kind words and healing energy going Ratty's way.  It is nice to think that one insignificant street cat has virtual friends in all corners of the globe. You've asked what is the Vet's prognosis - the Vet doesn't have one.  He and his colleagues are baffled by Ratty.  Most of his neurological symptoms would be explained by a head injury - severe concussion - but there are

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-73486823942154548642011-10-06T06:01:00.000+01:002011-10-06T06:01:39.041+01:00

Ratty is home.  I do not know whether I am merely postponing the inevitable, creating a rod for my own back, or, as I hope, giving him the best chance for recovery.  I am reminded of the episode in David Lean's film Lawrence of Arabia, where TEL goes back across the anvil desert to rescue the fellow who'd fallen asleep and off his camel during the crossing.  His comrades protested that 'It is

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-71220943851953479762011-10-05T11:26:00.000+01:002011-10-05T11:26:20.062+01:00

He still has 8 lives left - right? There has been no change in his condition from last night but we have decided to bring him home and look after him here for a few days.  He can't eat himself but we have experience with 'force feeding' a sick cat before.  We will give him a few more days and see if he picks up.  When Marius comes home tonight we will trek out to the Vet (again) and retrieve

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-13837801746394631422011-10-04T14:56:00.001+01:002011-10-04T17:32:27.881+01:00

I was hoping to give us all a break from the feline world.  I am sure that if you read 'Living in Exile' you do not want to read stories about cats, exclusively.  I even posted the story about our upcoming Thanksgiving dinner in an  attempt to signal my stepping back. On Sunday night I took some interesting cultural photos thinking, these would be good on the blog, and not a cat to be seen.  But

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-32600553298626002342011-10-02T13:06:00.000+01:002011-10-02T13:06:47.250+01:00

image from canflag.com It is Thanksgiving next weekend (the real one) and we have a tradition here of having a 'harvest festival' meal with some of our Canadian friends.  We will celebrate on Friday evening instead of Monday (no long weekend and for us the middle of the week), which gives us the day to cook and for Marius to recover from the working week.  And Saturday for everybody to recover

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-29021664786441327262011-10-01T06:00:00.001+01:002011-10-01T10:32:00.780+01:00

On Thursday afternoon Marius came home on an earlier bus from the site and we took Beowulf to our Vet. She hated being put in the carrier - really went mad with gymnastics and then heart-rending howls - but she settled down when Marius out the bag on my lap and I spoke to her.  I ended up telling her a long tale about her own adventures - to keep talking and because I get bored saying 'it's okay

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-69159955820084501942011-09-26T11:19:00.000+01:002011-09-26T11:19:02.929+01:00

I think she has moved in: under the kitchen table There is still some grumbling on the part of Mr Macc, whilst Miss Ming is inquisitive and neutral, as long as She doesn't get to my sardines first. We think Beowulf is a Norwegian Forest Cat, but we may be wrong.  According to wiki-wisdom, this breed is famous for its ability to climb and jump, and although faithful and affectionate, is

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-51755374312583924322011-09-22T07:51:00.000+01:002011-09-22T07:51:07.169+01:00

Forgive me gentle readers, for I am a wimp.  I think your advice regarding Macc is sensible; but having rescued him (well received him from a rescuer) and housed and loved him for eight years I feel I have to give us both another chance.  Yes, he was wicked and uncivilised, but I feel partly at fault, failing to appreciate cat-territory-psychology.  And the only other time I have been injured

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-26916298797085729362011-09-21T05:39:00.000+01:002011-09-21T05:39:56.437+01:00

Not much writing as the right hand is er, damaged. I have perfected a (foolish) technique cat-wise:  Wolfe sits on the threshold and maows.  I close the back garden door so that the brute can't come in.  I open the front door and let Wolfe in.  She is in the kitchen eating the porridge as it were (partly because - and this is a homeless cat, remember? - she doesn't like the new cat-crunchies I

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-63801473890568177702011-09-19T14:08:00.000+01:002011-09-19T14:08:12.564+01:00

My life seems inexplicably to have turned itself into a soap opera.  What would I call it? In some traditions it would be Fifth Avenue (where Isabel lives), or perhaps something maudlin, like The Exiled (where Isabel is doomed to live), or it could be Compound Mates (a la Neighbours), but the dramas are much more self-contained, sadly. After all the family dramas in Melbourne over the summer/

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-26421212429205251202011-09-14T16:10:00.000+01:002011-09-14T16:10:58.130+01:00

I have got myself into a bit of a pickle with the wildlife.  I've told you about Floyd and Beowulf living on our doorstep in earlier posts.  I've mentioned peacocks, I'm sure.  Before we went away, Floyd went AWOL - like he did last October - and we thought maybe he'd gone 'home' to his alternate residence.  (Always hoping he had not met with a life-changing incident.)  While I was in Melbourne

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-38817498889645165982011-09-12T13:12:00.000+01:002011-09-12T13:12:29.546+01:00

I have a backlog of pictures from the adventures Down Under and tales both gripping and depressing ...  some of which I will get to once the jet lag/sleep deprivation/grim shock/ etc have subsided. I think this picture sums up the past two months perfectly: Sadly, every year campers are seriously injured or killed when they pitch their tents beneath eucalyptus trees.  Still, an endearing '

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-12491061284201287022011-08-24T10:48:00.000+01:002011-08-24T10:48:58.780+01:00

Don't know if you saw the note I left on 'Written in Exile' to say that I am out of hospital and feeling a little better - still in Melbourne and hoping the Muse will remember me soon. Marius is returning tomorrow evening to have a short holiday (we hope so, this time) and in a few weeks he will take me back to Exile. My internet access remains, er, steam-driven, so I am operating under

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-20114479281495197162011-08-03T03:15:00.000+01:002011-08-03T03:15:07.013+01:00

We are back in Melbourne now.  Our last day with Marius' mum was glorious so I took some photos of her garden to show you. Ron was a keen landscaper so the garden is very strong on the structure side.  My taste is more for a natural and unkempt look, but that is not their style at all.  Being a seaside garden the plants have to be wind resistant as well as salt tolerant. I was planning

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-45969732294416122692011-07-17T07:59:00.000+01:002011-07-17T07:59:08.072+01:00

We went out to lunch today en famille, and then Marius and I went to wander through the local nursery, drooling over the colour in pots.  We made a mistake afterwards, because we visited the giant hardware superstore.  In other circumstances I would be lamenting the demise of a proper ironmonger and timber yard, the sort of place you could buy nails by the pound and hand-made tools, and sixpence

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-32919446249549881382011-07-15T08:14:00.000+01:002011-07-15T08:14:36.920+01:00

Well, you may have gathered that we've escaped for a few weeks respite from the heat.  The jet-lag is fading - although the 3 am trip to the regional airport 180 kms away to deliver Primus for a flight back to Melbourne on Thursday did not help.  All rather a blur. We all went for the drive to the airport:  Marius driving and Prima and I to keep him company.  We arrived at Newcastle at 4.45 am,

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-49174822193802133272011-07-09T09:59:00.003+01:002011-07-10T02:18:43.336+01:00

The peacocks seem to know that there is food at our house for cats.  Sometimes the cats leave a few crumbs behind and the peacocks always try their luck.  To begin with we had this chap snooping around: We have also had a peahen - now sadly with only one chick.  I hope it is a different hen and she hasn't lost a chick in the last few days: These last pictures were taken through the windows

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-38875267882788267992011-07-08T09:59:00.000+01:002011-07-08T09:59:17.968+01:00

This is the date palm in front of our house.  We have a nice food chain happening:  the birds eat the dates and the cats eat  ...  no they don't, because I feed them.  Although I wouldn't mind if they ate some of the myna birds. Or perhaps you would prefer one of these? Beautiful isn't it?  The blossom, or fruit,  smells faintly sweet and grape-like.  I am not sure what the fruit is called 

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-24393676913805204282011-07-07T09:30:00.000+01:002011-07-07T09:30:25.108+01:00

Dovecotes Arab-style:

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-64168626555225647082011-07-06T13:01:00.001+01:002011-07-06T15:49:04.411+01:00

We have a 1930s Scottish longcase clock, which has been all over the world with us.  It plays the Westminster chimes and strikes the hours and its gently ticking has kept me company on many long lonely evenings when Marius has been travelling. The ultra low humidity here does not agree with it, nor the packing up and moving, I suspect.  It has become tempermental in its old age.  Occasionally,

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-297754999352802302011-07-05T02:04:00.000+01:002011-07-05T02:04:57.140+01:00

A few weeks ago I showed you our indoor fountain: which has served us faithfully since 2006.  Recently the pump started to complain, drowning out the musical water sounds with pump-groans.  Rather than waiting for it to expire entirely, we retired it and then set about trying to replace the pump.  It is very difficult to find practical items here.  Once there were fountain pumps at one of the

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-32300904347185399502011-07-02T12:54:00.000+01:002011-07-02T12:54:26.211+01:00

I feel like I am coming out of the closet here ...  there is traditionally so much animosity between the Arts and the hard Sciences, especially engineering, including in my soul at times, I fear. My first degree was in English Language and Literature, at Queen's University Kingston.  It was a classic survey course covering everythig from Pearl and Sir Gawain in the original Old/Middle English

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-12570137676046694662011-07-01T17:15:00.000+01:002011-07-01T17:15:41.387+01:00

This evening I was out feeding this chap: Beowulf until we come up with a better name who has been hanging around for about 6 weeks or so.  We are sure this cat has been abandoned as she (?) is definitely not one of the ferals.  To begin with, Floyd saw her off, and I used to feed her in secret, but lately they have been getting along fine, eating together and curling up on the doorstep

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-29896653775637771912011-06-30T13:44:00.000+01:002011-06-30T13:44:07.593+01:00

I finished my last scheduled IVIg cycle this morning so am, at least temporarily, released from the hospital horrors.  Five months ago when I began I was distressed beyond belief to be submitting myself to the local health system.  Not being a democracy, the Supreme Health guys control all the decisions and it was only through their hospital that I could get the life-saving treatment I needed. 

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-18312122475830049192011-06-29T09:59:00.000+01:002011-06-29T09:59:25.534+01:00

I think I've confessed somewhere that in fact I am an imposter-poet, because in my 'real life' I am actually an Engineer.  Try as I might, every so often my interest in the physical world of science and engineering wins out over the airy-fairy poet.  Granted, I have been 'retired' for a few years, but that was because legally I couldn't work in Malaysia, no doubt because my skills in traffic and

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-92145882717473978082011-06-27T18:26:00.000+01:002011-06-27T18:26:22.973+01:00

I am pleased to report that I have a candidate for the all-important cat feeding job! The cats are relieved that I won't have to impale myself on my plane ticket after all.  If I would simply stay put like I ought to, we wouldn't have these problems, would we? x

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-20396915176694868502011-06-26T15:00:00.000+01:002011-06-26T15:00:33.241+01:00

I was going to post a piece I wrote earlier about kitchen cupboards (fascinating, bet you can't wait eh?) but instead, I've decided to have a little moan. This is my week in hospital to have my five infusions so I am feeling a little 'poorly' as they say.  I think I've told you that I have a serious and rare auto-immune condition, that has left me quite disabled: basically my arms don't work. 

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-24174757526200546222011-06-25T11:59:00.000+01:002011-06-25T11:59:38.874+01:00

Our neighbours across the street recently installed a new glass door in front of their standard-issue wooden front door.  They have also recently acquired a live-in maid so their house is undergoing rather a cleanliness transformation (we could all do with such?) and the new door sparkles like a mirror. In an earlier post I wrote about the day I caught a peacock challenging his reflection in our

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-27561917853889631212011-06-23T16:00:00.000+01:002011-06-23T16:00:49.458+01:00

I'm glad you've enjoyed the shadow portrait of Prima.  I can't claim it as my own work as my talented daughter took it as a self-portrait on a very windy day at Zekreet.  We are very shy in our family, sort of.  You may have gathered that 'Isabel Doyle' is a pseudonym, or you may not have noticed.  Sorry if you have been searching the internet for other news of me ...  Isabel Doyle was part of

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-1894820548455627752011-06-21T17:49:00.000+01:002011-06-21T17:49:44.882+01:00

 a winter picnic in the desert, January 2010 x

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-6657204616257339632011-06-19T09:34:00.001+01:002011-06-20T07:53:51.056+01:00

A few weeks ago, I introduced you to Ratty: Marius decided that 'Black Ears' wasn't personal enough so he re-named him Ratty and I probably mentioned his pal, LG: LG was Little Guy, until she went on heat and we realised that she was Little Girl They always hang around together, walking with their tales intertwined and being remarkably affectionate to each other  (they are semi-feral

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-24584073859309994422011-06-17T16:44:00.000+01:002011-06-17T16:44:33.048+01:00

The other day Marius and I were having a chat after he came home from work.  I don't see many people during the day so he tries to amuse me with stories of his day, interesting encounters, dramas and gossip (only of the non-salacious kind).  He told me about a conversation he had with one of his colleagues who is about 62 or so - about ten years older than Marius.  They were discussing their

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-19281369692441719632011-06-13T16:18:00.000+01:002011-06-13T16:18:32.280+01:00

not your average loiterer? x

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-88336109826356896192011-06-11T18:48:00.000+01:002011-06-11T18:48:17.371+01:00

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-83997709927768754532011-06-08T12:50:00.000+01:002011-06-08T12:50:38.666+01:00

This is the weather forecast from today's paper: A tad warm?  If you are sufferng under grey cool skies, spare a thought for others less fortunate than you are. Now that it is hot all the time, even overnight, an interesting thing happens:  there is no cold water.  Of course there is the fridge, and we have a water cooler thing-o that takes 20 litre bottles and offers chilled or room

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-16054835533509625692011-06-07T06:53:00.000+01:002011-06-07T06:53:22.201+01:00

After my little foray into the world of 'Interiors', I bring you a question, faithful readers.  I am blessed with 'A Room of One's Own' (no independent means to go with it, but never mind), a bright and charming study, which I don't have to share with anyone: except Ming.  This is an old photo, taken when I was still using my old laptop, and my study.  (You can even see some of my Buddhas.) 

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-64978055975510459472011-06-01T15:58:00.000+01:002011-06-01T15:58:59.099+01:00

We have far too many Buddhas, I know.  If one must have a vice, collecting Buddhas seems to be relatively benign. There are basically three poses that Buddhas are presented in:  standing, seated and reclining.  The position of their limbs and hands, and any decoration is highly symbolic.  They are from all over the Buddhist world, mostly Asia, India and the Far East, and each region and period

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-74295975916539290702011-05-29T14:26:00.000+01:002011-05-29T14:26:29.443+01:00

Marius has been sick with a nasty cold and last week was my regular infusion week-from-hell making us a nice pair of misery;  however on Saturday afternoon we both felt well enough to sit in the garden and drink tea together.  It was surprisingly pleasant for this time of year - only 35 - and not humid at all.  Marius was studying his 'Strad' magazine, drooling over the advertised bows (he told

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-54279631007080529762011-05-19T09:19:00.000+01:002011-05-19T09:19:09.407+01:00

I haven't posted any messages from exile for a while you may have noticed (but possibly the great void hasn't even blinked in my absence). I am happy to report I was not arrested nor frozen out by the cyber-fun-police, rather I got caught up in being in London and decided that instead of analysing my joy I would focus on experiencing it.  It was lovely to sit under a tree in Kensington Gardens

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-46567978750324307242011-05-07T10:42:00.000+01:002011-05-07T10:42:17.614+01:00

We are not strictly speaking tourists so we feel no obligation to do 'the sights', or cram frantic activities into our days in London.  Spoilt or lazy or rather dull perhaps, but we are on holiday, like an extended long weekend where you really could be out festivity-making but you'd rather sit and watch the dandelions bloom. Yesterday we walked over to Kensington Gardens.  Marius went across to

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-88471034087704818302011-05-06T10:43:00.000+01:002011-05-06T10:43:26.738+01:00

Yesterday we snuck past security, passport control (you need an exit visa), the myriad checks and questions and flew away.  The plane was stuffed with fellow escapees and those who had come from further afield.  Tedious and cramped but then we sank down out of the clouds into a gorgeous late afternoon on the tarmac, floating above green fields and hedgerows, suburban roof-tops (sorry for our

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-71883676727683444402011-05-04T12:34:00.000+01:002011-05-04T12:34:10.397+01:00

A few days ago, I alerted the throngs of readers (well two, it seems, anyway) that Marius and I would soon be escaping for a short respite to the land of breakfasts.  Tomorrow we are off, which means today I am faced with the unavoidable packing job.  Not simply packing, but the wrestle with myself:  I don't want to go.  I would rather stay put.  I hate suitcases and passports and taxis and

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-20177653615187269462011-05-03T10:29:00.000+01:002011-05-03T10:29:00.518+01:00

I was admiring my gardenias this morning - they only last a few days - when I spotted something I'd never seen before.  I know very little (if not less) about insects, beyond a general awareness of bugs and their abilities to camouflage themselves.  Spot the spider-ish creatures: And here: I have never seen white insects before: Aren't they clever? *

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-33662423713567808682011-05-02T15:46:00.001+01:002011-05-02T15:48:41.829+01:00

I have not seen the frantic family today - and my cats have not brought in any small trophies, so I am hoping the fledgling has made it back to the nest or some other place of refuge. My cats are happy to enjoy their garden again.  I am relieved not to be a worrying surrogate parent (pulling my feathers out). And the gardenia is flowering: I wish I could capture the scent for you because

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-20260517426821527282011-05-01T14:20:00.000+01:002011-05-01T14:20:28.636+01:00

If there was some sort of universal frequency-of-complaint counter, after the weather, parents would be at the top of the list.  Parents can be blamed for every short-coming, personality disorder, failure, temper tantrum or misdemeanor.  Parents are accused of being too laid back, or too thrusting, overly cosseting or neglectful.  Those of us on the 'have children' register are familiar with

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-78799077626627240482011-04-29T18:18:00.000+01:002011-04-29T18:18:02.646+01:00

True love ... Mister Macc and Miss Ming have been through a lot together ... note the dust on everything Hope the newly-weds have a long and happy marriage. x

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-28442143565317195242011-04-28T12:03:00.000+01:002011-04-28T12:03:58.542+01:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an event should never be awaited too eagerly as the reality will be unable to achieve the mythic anticipation; however Marius and I are escaping for a short break to London. London I hear you shriek incredulously.  Why not the Maldives, the Himalayas, Venice, Prague or Mumbai?  The answer is simple: breakfast. We always stay (courtesy of the

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-6322664039741006452011-04-27T18:49:00.000+01:002011-04-27T18:49:28.025+01:00

I am absolutely determined this 'adjunct blog' (nice phrase courtesy of Susan T...) is not going to become a record of my hospital life;  however, I feel a little guilty as not much will  get posted this week (has been posted) because this is the regular week from hell.  My fairly quiet and restricted life consists of: get up at 5 am, wash what I can, eat, be driven to the hospital, get stabbed

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-20806465529217598292011-04-25T11:45:00.000+01:002011-04-25T11:45:03.748+01:00

We got up at 4 am this morning to attend the memorial observations of ANZAC Day.  A few devoted people organise this event every year, inviting representatives from the Australian, New Zealand, British and Turkish governments.  Despite the hour - the ceremony begins at 4.45 to meet the dawn, and to mark the time of the landings - there is always a good crowd.  I think, more than anything else,

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-70622031271960762242011-04-23T15:21:00.000+01:002011-04-23T15:21:34.583+01:00

I think it is very quiet in the blogsphere this weekend, so it is safe to post another cat story without alienating my myriad followers and secret readers, eh? In Exile-land it is usually best to do things early in the day, before the heat builds up or the traffic.  As Saturday is the only day the shops are open and Marius is home, there is always a bit of a scramble to decide what we will do.

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-33503563904191907862011-04-22T11:12:00.001+01:002011-04-22T14:54:24.426+01:00

Welcome to your holidays you lot.  In Britain you are starting an 'enforced' break of - is it 11 days? - to enjoy spring, rebirth and the sacrifice of a not-quite-so-young bride.  In Australia, because of the late Easter, ANZAC Day coincides with the long weekend, making it a five day 'super' weekend.  I bet the supermarkets are empty and the highways full.  In North America you are also enjoying

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-50653824863026866412011-04-21T08:18:00.000+01:002011-04-21T08:18:40.188+01:00

I was chased by a black landcruiser this morning as I drove across for my physio.  Toyota landcruisers are the vehicle of choice here; usually white, and usually V8 super powerful monsters.  Sorry, petrol is very cheap (about the same as bottled drinking water).  It costs us about $12 Australian (roughly as exchange rates are all over the place currently) to fill the tank from half- full. 

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-32031859282732471202011-04-20T15:48:00.000+01:002011-04-20T15:48:32.778+01:00

It is mating season for the peacocks;  it always seems to be mating season.  They scream and call throughout the night, challenging each other, shadows, suspicious looking  trees and windows.  I've never seen two peacocks fight, but I have seen them square up to their own reflections.  One challenger was in the shiny bumper of a neighbour's car.  The peacock kept staring at it, stepping back,

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-71969004445659267062011-04-19T13:53:00.000+01:002011-04-19T13:53:02.918+01:00

Tim asked a very good question:  does the current post feel like a hardship assignment? To be honest, I am not sure that 'real life' wouldn't feel equally like hardship.  I've done this for what feels like so long (current stint 11 years) that I have forgotten what it might feel like to be settled.  When I am home in Australia staying with my elderly parents, I have to guard against my impulse

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5869945185122101623.post-43839378338660817932011-04-19T11:06:00.000+01:002011-04-19T11:06:30.061+01:00

Whew ...  that was odd.  A little while ago, I sent an email from my gmail account to Elisabeth - more as an experiment than anything else.  I didn't think about it, but it was the first email I had sent from that account, er, here. Immediately following my pressing 'send', my account turned to squiggle writing, and closed.  I tried to access my blogger dashboard and it had turned to squiggle

Isabel Doylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17974989548030799086noreply@blogger.com3