Category: australian values

I was looking on the updated Skilled Occupation list which is to do with Australian immigration, and who gets extra points on their immigration applications or who gets priority or something like that.

The mister and I have Australian passports, so we don’t actually have to prove our worth to the Australian government when we want to go home. They have to let us in. Nonetheless, I was looking at it, because I thought it would be interesting to see whether or not we hold skills that the Australian government thinks Australia needs.

Much as I would love to be considered ‘brain drain’ material, I am not shocked to find that Australia is not missing my skills. There’s a shitload of jobs there, and I, with a BA, an MA, two finished grad dips, one incomplete grad dip, and a not insubstantial number of jobs, could not even fudge myself as one of them.

The mister, on the other hand, with his CV composed of one degree and two employers, seems to be so highly valued that there’s about five terms there which could describe him, including the top three.

“Funniest thing I ever saw,” said the tram conductor as he perched himself on the seat behind Adelaide’s children, allowing him to make eye contact with Adelaide while at the same time directing the flow of his words into her children’s ears, “young* mother gets on the tram, validates her own ticket, and I tell her what I just told you, that the kids pay if they’re five or over and she says ‘he’s not five’.”

The tram conductor shook his head conspiratorially.

“But then, of course, the kid pipes up ‘yes, I am'”

Even the next day as she wrote about the incident on the interwebs Adelaide’s heart still beat a bit too fast and dots swam before her eyes.

“So I had no choice but to make her buy the ticket.”

The tram conductor allowed room for a small silence. The woman beside Adelaide shuffled a little in her seat. Adelaide maintained the eye contact with the tram conductor .

The tram conductor spoke again.

“Kids, hey? They’re very proud of their age.”

And had it not transpired that, for the first time in his life, her youngest child had remained COMPLETELY SILENT WHAT’S WITH THAT BUT LET’S TAKE WHATEVER SMALL GIFTS THE UNIVERSE SENDS it could have been the most embarrassing moment in Adelaide’s life, except that she had once been standing on a stage dressed as Minnie Mouse and wet her pants.

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Because of reasons, I couldn’t get in to Elder Park, but the mister took the boys in to see the sorry broadcast. I was very pleased that when we talked about the apology last night, they already knew about it because their teachers had been talking with them at school.

I listened on the radio in the car with my grandfather in the seat next to me, and I was thinking that in his 91 years, he has been part of some momentous days. And now, so have I.

What a day.

Sorry.

It was hot today.

The mister went and sat under the Moreton Bay figs at the cricket. I went to a garden shop. The one where they sell ice creams. The boys sat on a garden bench with their pokemon cards and the promise of an ice cream, but not the Smarties one or the Bart Simpsons one. Those things are a rip off. And the packaging…

I desperately want to buy some of that bamboo or willow sheeting that you can pin against the fence. Our yard is so good neighbour fencing if you know what I mean. But that sheeting is all made in China, and I can’t bear the thought of all those pandas starving just to make my backyard look good for a couple of years until it goes out of fashion and I rip it down and send it to landfill. At this particular garden shop, the willow didn’t have any ‘made in…’ stickers, and I could have pretended that it wasn’t made in China. But I would have known. I said to the man behind the counter ‘is that bamboo sheeting made in China?’ and he preteneded not to know. If you want to do something about human rights abuses in China, slightly more active than not buying the bamboo sheeting, there’s a couple of actions on the Amnesty website at the moment. Now I’m so earnest, I’m even boring myself.

Moving on.

The mister doesn’t truly appreciate the genius juxtaposition of the geranmium against the succulent. I have shoved them between the gratings of the cast iron grilles I got the cast iron forgers to install, not long after the blinds. He has tried, but he doesn’t. I can tell from the way he dips, instead of nods, his head. It does kind of accentuate the grubbiness of the windows which we should have washed before the grilles were installed.

I am trying to re-create Frida Kahlo’s courtyard in suburban Adelaide. It isn’t going too well. I bought a grapevine as well. On a whim. To replace the other vine cutting, which seems to be just a stick these day. It’s a seedless flame grape that I bought today, but I bet it’s nowhere near as good as those flame grapes you can get from the House of Organics at the market right now. They are worth a special trip into town. I’ll refund your bus ticket if you don’t agree. Except if you live in Tuvalu or anywhere else outside Adelaide. Which is nothing personal. Just a matter of finances.

The discussion about where we should plant the vine turned into a disagreement about the state of the backyard, in particular the pavers, and what we should do to fix it. Like I said, it’s been a hot day.

And could someone train the dog not to jump on the table.

To end the evening, the mister has tried once again to convince me of The Iron Chef’s brilliance as a television show. I don’t get it. I still heart Survivor.

I think I got sunburnt today. Either at the garden shop, or later on, at the swimming pool where the boys got another ice cream, because they really were very well behaved.

One final thing: did you see that woman crossing Goodwood Road? Yes, the one with the Australian flags piercing her bun in that kind of geisha way. And her little girl walking behind, carrying that enormous bag of ice. It was strange, wasn’t it? Wish I’d had my camera.

I was mentioning to my friend about an hour ago about the letters I’ve sent to Jeanette over the years (well, there have only been two – if I were a Gladiator my name would be Exaggerator) and my friend said ‘so will you be sending her a condolence card?’ and I said ‘I bloody well hope so’.

The mister’s talking about what brand of champagne he’s going to chill.

I’m nervous. Aren’t you?

PS The letters were about such things as ‘will you have a talk to John about possibly not going to war in Iraq’, and look as a form of activism it was pretty piss weak, but I was all post-baby fuzzy and crying at McDonald’s ads and thinking that anyone’s humanity could be reached. And it was her secretary replied. On very nice paper indeed.

footy parkOriginally uploaded by adelaide writer

This is a view from where my dad sits to watch the footy at footy park (applying ABC editorial standards just for a moment here). I took it a few minutes before the only game I’ve been to see this year. And I’m not going today – it costs too much, and there’s too much to do, although we can’t collect the puppy after all which has made the weekend slightly less hectic.

I’ve been wearing my port power jumper for the last three days (I don’t have that many clothes). People ask ‘how do you think we’ll go’ and it always takes me by surprise. As I said to the mister and my dad the other night ‘I wear the jumper with irony, but no one understands’. They mocked me. As they very often do.

I like the simplicity of football. I like that I can not like the crows for no reason at all except that I go for port. I don’t have to analyse it, or explain it, or go to my acupuncturist and answer questions about it. I guess if I did think about it, that would also be what I don’t like. But we all have our inconsistencies.

My dad taught me that.

woodchopping

Originally uploaded by adelaide writer

So I went to the show this afternoon, and met the mister, my dad, my boys and my nephew who had been there since sometime before the oven man arrived at my house.

The show goes for a week, and we usually try to avoid going on the weekends. And we’ve had a great day, we really have. We love the show.

We didn’t stay for the fireworks, because the day was not as good as the day we went last year, and by the time we left it had got quite cold. Not really the kind of weather for hanging around. And anyway, we can see the fireworks from our backyard. The ones that go really high into the air anyway. Not sure what you’d see if you bounced on the trampoline. You might have to time the bounces. If it’s not raining at 9.10 pm, I’ll go and give it a try.

I only took one photo today. Of the boys drinking the free milkshakes they got with vouchers they got from somewhere.

So this is me at last year’s show. The inner city greens voter at the woodchopping. And loving it.

And it’s a cappuccino. In case you were wondering. No one in this house drinks latte. And our wine of choice is shiraz. Except in summer when it’s sparkling something like burgundy or ale.

These are probably still available in Surfers’ Paradise, just on your left as you are getting off the bus which turns into a boat then back into the bus again.

No, not the one where children ride free. The other company.

Just down the road from the place where you can buy one of these for your lunch:

Life’s a journey, no?