Ken waxes lyrical about making mistakes. Pity he’d not done the same to his legs…
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Knobbly knees
December 23rd, 2011Australian exodus
December 20th, 2011Wondered if I’d been a bit harsh. My barely concealed angst at being asked if I was Australian. But then there’d been a piece on the BBC website entitled "Why we quit Australia for the UK". Their reasons resonating with my own observations. Difficulties buying "groceries past 6pm". "I found them friendly (especially when you were buying stuff from them) but they don’t want to be your friend". "Nightmare of rules and regulations". "Cost of living…. scandalous".
To be fair, some of the reasons given reflect more on poor homework by those immigrating to Australia. For which I’ve little sympathy. Or simple home-sickness. But the underlying theme is very supportive of my own observations. Reassuring. Incidentally, if you do think I’m rounding a bit on Australia, then perhaps I am. But then detaining me – quite unreasonably – on my return to Sydney from New Zealand and there’s bound to be consequences…. Of course, Customs and Border Protection will no doubt have their excuses. Those sorts of people usually do.
Muggles
December 16th, 2011More Harry Potter than Eighties recording artist I’d suggested. My Dad had thought Muggles had been behind Eighties hit "Video killed the radio star". Close though. The track playing in the background of the diner where I’d joined my parents for dinner.
I’d made it through the mountains from Superior to Globe to meet up with them once more. There’d been a tunnel. Explaining tackling it was a bit like err well, you know. All in the timing. And the reality usually a bit of a let down. Less dramatic than what you might anticipate. No dead dogs or pot holes to contend with. And there were lights, of sorts.
We’d both chosen the same omelette. But then told by our server it wasn’t available, strictly a breakfast option. Only to eventually plump for the same filled croissant. I was sure I’d decided first.
Rude and amusing
December 14th, 2011
Just knew Mike from Norfolk, who, incidentally, is the owner of Wallace the Wallaby for his previous witticisms, would come up trumps. This has Caption Competition written all over it. So, a couple of his suggestions:
“It all started when Hiawatha came to bathe nearby”
“I went to see the Doctor and he just said I was a big prick”
There were other suggestions, I hasten to add not from Mike, but they washed over my innocence. Something to do with batteries…
Points of interest
December 8th, 2011
In the small dusty town of Ocotillo, edge of Yuha Desert, Southern California. Emphasis on small…
Brandon at Bridge Street
November 30th, 2011Introducing Brandon. Proprietor of the Bridge Street Inn hostel in Cambria, central California. An eclectic if somewhat zany clip, featuring cast iron cookware, sourdough bread, poetry reading and guitar playing. And Chinese panties. Brandon also does stand-up.
The Old Curiosity Shop
November 26th, 2011I’m not Australian and don’t like to be called as such. Which happens fairly frequently in North America. Finding myself particularly riled by this, forcing myself to ponder why this might be. Of course, I know a good number of great people, destined to be life-long friends, who happen to be Australian. My issue firmly cultural rather than individual.
True, I admire their stoicism in the face of frequent adversity. Their self-reliance. Itself a little ironic for what appears to be the ultimate Nanny State. Runaway regulation. Officious bureaucracy. Federal system unwarranted for a population less than a third of that of the UK. Governed by a mediocrity of politicians. Always grains amongst the chaff. Anna Bligh, Queensland’s Premier. Met her briefly. But not Prime Ministerial material. Not that you need to be.
Some aspects simply amuse rather than annoy. Bowling greens and old fashioned social clubs, serving meals reminiscent of school dinners. Rather quaint. Like an Old Curiosity Shop. Finally embracing EFTPOS like it was a sparkly new children’s toy. Words like free or inclusive have largely been discarded from their lexicon, replaced by the likes of gourmet – pronounced ’gore-met’ – its application bordering on the abusive. It’ll be fondue sets next. Their de facto national dish as unoriginal as it is uninspiring in a continent of unique flora and fauna. Fish and chips. Almost criminal. But that’s history for you. Made worse by the fact that a rather better model for European colonisation lies right under their noses. New Zealand.
I’d been asked by one fellow traveller why I thought all this might be? What about atmospheric nuclear testing? I paused, albeit briefly, then replied, smiling, that my diary was clear next week. In the meantime, I’ll just have to settle for a friend’s suggestion. When asked by a US citizen if you’re Australian, reply by asking which part of Canada they come from…
If at first you don’t succeed
November 26th, 2011
Works every time… Incidentally, however laudable it may be, Ken most certainly isn’t biking for world peace… But you probably guessed that by now… And whilst he has no plans to enter the arms trade when he gets home, if he did it’d be an ethical affair – or at least a frightfully honest one – company motto "We pedal death"
Cup cake
November 26th, 2011I was certain he’d called me cup cake. And in San Francisco that made me especially nervous. I’d a list. San Andreas Fault. Invasion of the Bodysnatchers. Alcatraz. Trams. A Sixties song I could never remember the name of. Something to do with flowers in your hair. And a scribbled, cryptic note about tolerant society. Just in case anyone glanced at it over my shoulder. Not wishing to offend, however unintentional.
But I was mistaken. He was merely offering me something to accompany my coffee. I smiled, paused briefly and then politely declined. Felt I should somehow have responded with a witty quip. Just as I’d done at one campground. Mentioning I was contemplating lighting a fire, he’d asked if I had wood. No, I’d quickly replied, it was just the padding. You had to be there.
Toilet humour
November 24th, 2011Ken stops for a short break on his way into San Francisco… Not normally one to camp around toilets…
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