Hardware Hardship

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 worth of woodscrews, and there was a man in a leather apron who knew your grandfather, and would grant you 40 years of wisdom with your order of 6 yards of hemp rope - do you know the sort of place I mean?  

Well in contrast to my ususal hankering for 'the way things were done when I was a boy' ...   Marius and I wandered about the aisles of the superstore, feeling like we had reached Eldorado, and excitedly reminding each other of what would be useful to look for.   I have moaned elsewhere of the impossibility of finding practical objects in the place of Exile - if Carrefour doesn't sell it in a plastic wrap it is nigh on impossible to find in the land of dust and gravel. 

First we wandered up the aisle that sold 'watering fitments' such as hoses, and connectors and sprinklers and watering systems.  Marius spied an old-fashioned brass hose nozzle that he fell on with joy.  Definitely would fit in the suitcase.  Then he started looking for one of those wire hose-holders that you screw into the ground - we even asked someone.  No, only modern spikes.  Let's face it, that would have been tricky to pack. 

Then we found the section selling barbecue parts - Marius said you could rebuild a whole barbecue with what was on offer.  We picked up a new cover for ours. 

Do you remember the post about the fountain pump?  They had a whole wall devoted to building your own fountain: pumps, hoses, fancy lights and foam-makers. My bottom lip began to tremble.

I wandered outside into the garden plant section and tears began to gather in the corners of my eyes.  Marius was off looking at secateurs and itching to buy himself a bushsaw.   So much abundance, so much practical stuff ... not a diamond-encrusted watch to be seen and no sneering gentlemen out in their white nighties being haughty and offensive.

When we finally dragged ourselves away, I said to Marius:  'I know if we moved home, after two months I wouldn't care that the biggest hardware store in the world was on my doorstep, but right now I just don't want to go back.'

It takes me like that, exile.  Designer clothes shops, jewellers, Lamborghini dealers ...  couldn't care less, but a decent hardware store breaks my heart.

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Released on Good Behaviour Bond

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, and had time for a coffee and bacon-and-egg sandwich with Primus before he left.  It is 'layout' week at the magazine and he couldn't be away for the week we had booked.  After we waved him goodbye, I asked Prima if she knew why I had come too, even though she had volunteered to keep her Dad company on the drive back.  I told her: 'If you were all going to get killed in a road crash, I wanted to be with you.'  She replied 'I figured it was something like that.'  She knows me too well.

I am pleased to report we were not killed ...  we got back to Forster about 7.30 am and all went back to bed.  I didn't want to wake up at 11, but we were going out to lunch to celebrate Marius' mother's birthday so I was forced to.  Last night I went to sleep at a more sensible hour and woke up this morning at 8.30, so I am getting there.  Jet-lag and the 7 hour time change always knock me around.

The view from the front verandah:

I can hear kookaburras having a giggle in the garden; there have been currawongs chortling and the chainsaw massacre bird (don't know the common name) has been conducting a road crash from the eaves.  It is chilly - winter time.  We are all rugged up against the cold: no swimming.

This is the first time I've been back since my father-in-law died nearly 18 months ago.  Marius was here in December, on a long-planned trip,  but I was in hospital in London so couldn't come.  Marius' uncle has come down from Queensland to see us too, and when Primus was here it was a bit of a family reunion.  It feels a little odd not having Ron here, but at the same time he is everywhere:  he built the house and after 58 years of marriage, his life is so inter-twined with Joan's that it doesn't really feel like he's gone. 

Joan is a great tidy-upper and during the week he died we were helping her have a clean out.  Still, there are a few hats hanging -- Ron was never out without a hat -- and photos of him.   Some of his tools are still where he left them hanging on neat rows.  Marius locked up the ones he wanted to keep.  I am pleased that we tell stories about Ron and discuss whether he visits -- Joan says she is sure he does sometimes.  He is not the 'elephant in the room'.

He would have loved lunch today.  We had fish and chips, prawn culets, salad.  Perhaps devoured is more correct than the weak 'had'.  The fish is 'flake', which is actually shark.  Boneless, sweet, light and very tasty. I was brought up thinking only halibut was fit for fish and chips but I never see it now; I think perhaps it has been fished-out with the cod.

Before:

and

After:

and

No need to eat for the rest of the week then ...   sadly, being Australia, there were no mushy peas.


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Peacocks Calling

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 with my phone, in a hurry before the birds left so they are not very good.  In this one you can make out the little crown sprouting on the top of the chick's head (or maybe not).

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Care for a Date?

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  - and the bees love them:

 

 

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They do things on a grand scale here ...

Dovecotes Arab-style: