Bring on the dancing girls
Any chance I had of letting my mind down and falling into a pit of self propelled despair was dispelled yesterday. Wandering round the Rottnest museum I discovered yet again that my bloody lot were responsible for another set of atrocities against the Aborigines, by using the island as a prison. The original governor of the island who held the belief that the indigenous people were an inferior race thought that twenty men to a cell with no sanitation (the cells were simply washed out of sewerage each morning with a bucket), was a fitting punishment for such atrocities as stealing an orange. Regardless of the length of interment prisoners were issued with one set of clothes and one blanket, if they were in for life it was expected to last. The history of this island and the continued marginalisation of the Aboriginal people across Australia makes me feel ashamed to be British and ashamed to love this place so much.
I quickly sumised that really I have bugger all to be glum about in a world where I am cloaked in love that covers three continents, spoilt for choice on so many fronts, healthy, happy and wealthy in so many ways.
I spent the evening in a cinema with approximately two hundred kids. Well, I say a cinema, it sometimes doubles as school hall, and features deck chairs rather than the red velour comfy seats I have come to take as standard issue for film showing venues. The kids were wise to this and turned up with pillows! I wasn't, but "the incredible" was so much fun I didn't notice how sore my bum was until I stood up at the end. The parents of Rottness were, en masse in the pub whilst the kiddies and me saw the film, and when I came out to find them queuing to collect their various little Jonnies, I thought it was a queue for the next showing and gushed to the guy at the front "it truly is incredible, you'll love it". He smiled, and politely declined to point out the blooming obvious fact that the kids were inside and the adults out, for a reason.
Rottnest was lovely, very romantic, very family orientated, a bit "of course it's where you come with your nearest and dearest" but lovely. The sand was so soft it didn't even scratch when it inevitable landed in my bed. The water an assortment of postcard perfect colours, including all those vivacious blues and green that were so popular on the high street in the 1980's and seem to be making a resurgence. Every corner offered a new secluded cove to swim in, snorkel in or cavort naked on the sand in. I naturally gave the latter a miss. Not sure what the locals would of made of me writhing around without my kit firmly on. The tourist were well managed and contained by a small and infrequent ferry service. They were gentle reminded to recycle and not feed the animals. The animals were similarly well behaved, even the seagulls seemed to forget that tourist spots are where you get fat on chips from bins and instead genteely fished in the softly lapping waters. I loved it, but three days was enough and I am ready to head to the action at the end of it.
My bum currently resembles J-Lo's, which it never did, even in my porkiest moment I earned the nickname ironing board bum. No more. It houses my purse belt which is bristling with travelers cheques and foreign currency, my visa card, passport, tickets, itinerary, padlock keys. All day I have been trying to work out how to hide something that is starting to resemble Ulysses. Suddenly, a bum like an ironing board has come in useful!
I fly in 5 and a half an hours, am fuelled by a mixture of nerves and adrenalin, I feel like Tom Sawyer, about to embark on an adventure, only without Jim and Huck and the Raft. Intrepid, that's how I am seeing it, and it's pretty liberating.
I spent this afternoon in hospital visiting the Balinese princess from the backpackers who it transpires is my antithesis by being the unluckiest woman in the world. She was caught in the Bali bomb, has spent much of the last 2 years in hospital, has a son missing in Phuket following the tsunami and she is now in a high dependency unit with suspected liver trouble. I took fruit and a Tom Robbins novel I knew she hadn't read (she's a fellow fan I discovered when reading half asleep in frog pajamas) but really, how much consolation can you be to someone who's had such a run of bad luck? Makes you realise..
Anyway folks, seeing as how I've started a trend amongst some of my fave Sydneysiders, I have to rush now to read Sarah and Gavin's blogs. Miss you all, love you all, expect to see you all in the next nine months
Life is for living, too short for regrets, that's how I see it anyway. bring on the dancing girls, let me among them
Julie x
I quickly sumised that really I have bugger all to be glum about in a world where I am cloaked in love that covers three continents, spoilt for choice on so many fronts, healthy, happy and wealthy in so many ways.
I spent the evening in a cinema with approximately two hundred kids. Well, I say a cinema, it sometimes doubles as school hall, and features deck chairs rather than the red velour comfy seats I have come to take as standard issue for film showing venues. The kids were wise to this and turned up with pillows! I wasn't, but "the incredible" was so much fun I didn't notice how sore my bum was until I stood up at the end. The parents of Rottness were, en masse in the pub whilst the kiddies and me saw the film, and when I came out to find them queuing to collect their various little Jonnies, I thought it was a queue for the next showing and gushed to the guy at the front "it truly is incredible, you'll love it". He smiled, and politely declined to point out the blooming obvious fact that the kids were inside and the adults out, for a reason.
Rottnest was lovely, very romantic, very family orientated, a bit "of course it's where you come with your nearest and dearest" but lovely. The sand was so soft it didn't even scratch when it inevitable landed in my bed. The water an assortment of postcard perfect colours, including all those vivacious blues and green that were so popular on the high street in the 1980's and seem to be making a resurgence. Every corner offered a new secluded cove to swim in, snorkel in or cavort naked on the sand in. I naturally gave the latter a miss. Not sure what the locals would of made of me writhing around without my kit firmly on. The tourist were well managed and contained by a small and infrequent ferry service. They were gentle reminded to recycle and not feed the animals. The animals were similarly well behaved, even the seagulls seemed to forget that tourist spots are where you get fat on chips from bins and instead genteely fished in the softly lapping waters. I loved it, but three days was enough and I am ready to head to the action at the end of it.
My bum currently resembles J-Lo's, which it never did, even in my porkiest moment I earned the nickname ironing board bum. No more. It houses my purse belt which is bristling with travelers cheques and foreign currency, my visa card, passport, tickets, itinerary, padlock keys. All day I have been trying to work out how to hide something that is starting to resemble Ulysses. Suddenly, a bum like an ironing board has come in useful!
I fly in 5 and a half an hours, am fuelled by a mixture of nerves and adrenalin, I feel like Tom Sawyer, about to embark on an adventure, only without Jim and Huck and the Raft. Intrepid, that's how I am seeing it, and it's pretty liberating.
I spent this afternoon in hospital visiting the Balinese princess from the backpackers who it transpires is my antithesis by being the unluckiest woman in the world. She was caught in the Bali bomb, has spent much of the last 2 years in hospital, has a son missing in Phuket following the tsunami and she is now in a high dependency unit with suspected liver trouble. I took fruit and a Tom Robbins novel I knew she hadn't read (she's a fellow fan I discovered when reading half asleep in frog pajamas) but really, how much consolation can you be to someone who's had such a run of bad luck? Makes you realise..
Anyway folks, seeing as how I've started a trend amongst some of my fave Sydneysiders, I have to rush now to read Sarah and Gavin's blogs. Miss you all, love you all, expect to see you all in the next nine months
Life is for living, too short for regrets, that's how I see it anyway. bring on the dancing girls, let me among them
Julie x
posted by The Gypsy @ 7:22 PM
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