… and if you’re a mother, have a tissue at hand.

Adapting Back Home – Andrea Martins

xx

As I walked towards my daughters’ school, I thought “Hmmm… what topic shall I post to the unsuspecting newbie arrivals”

Just then, it hit me – well, actually it nearly hit me – Bloody magpie season!

OK... maybe they don't look quite like this!

I know they are only trying to protect their young, but as soon as it nears the end of August, these birds seem to have demonic possession – it seems they don’t really want to just frighten you away, they are more interested in taking out an eye or removing a small chunk of ear.

I can’t say I’m really a fan of magpies anyway, but during the months of  August to November this little black and white feathered creature transforms from its status of being a slightly aggravating bird - to a savage suicide-bomber.

Of course it does have a good reason, after all it is nesting season, so it is only doing what any woman suffering with postnatal depression in a hot feathered suit would do.

In past years I have regularly witnessed this same sight at the same time of year…

The local postman veering his motorbike all over a busy road, usually waving one arm frantically above his head in an effort to stop the bird from persistently clacking its bill on his helmet – and not just once or twice, the bird usually takes it personally and actually wants the man dead… or at least that’s how it seems.

OK, it does make me burst into knicker-wetting laughter as an onlooker, and it does probably traumatise the poor postie – who must be miles away by the time the damn thing stops attacking.

Behind you!

So, just remember to watch out at magpie season – change your walking and cycling routes to avoid areas where they might be nesting or if all else fails, take a helmet/shield/suit of armour/oozie 9mm with you in your bag.

Add cable ties - some people swear by them!

Good luck!

But actually there is another phenomenon that you Brits need to know about – before you leave the shores of Blighty.

Christmas in July.

No, I’m not making it up, it is an actual bona fide tradition that the Aussies do.  And to be quite honest, after I had finished mocking it for being utterly ridiculous, I realised it makes total sense.

Imagine Christmas day, everyone has been out for a swim in the pool, or just got back from a quick dip at the beach, while you have been out the 15lb turkey has been roasting away in a sweltering oven. It is difficult to muster up any enthusiasm to prepare the roast potatoes, parsnips and other delicacies, such as pigs in blankets, when the sweat is dripping off the end of your nose blending nicely with the rosemary and herb basting on the turkey – so you decide to put the air conditioner on.

After a few hours, the house has cooled to a much more comfortable level and you happily dig into your sumptuous Christmas dinner, followed by a steaming hot figgie pudding and brandy custard.

But why put yourself through it??

The cooler temperature in July is crying out for comfort food and who wouldn’t want a Christmas dinner with all the trimmings when you don’t have to be hyperventilating to make it?

So once again, I have to say ‘good on ya, Aussies’ for starting another wacky but fun tradition.

….Now if only we could get hold of a ‘Marks & Spencer’s butternut squash and leek roast’,  we’d be sorted.

Have a great week and Happy Christmas. x

What?….

No, I’m not going mad again – this is quite a common Australian phrase at the moment.

It stands for End Of Financial Year Sale.

Weird?….

Not really, the Australian financial year runs from July 1st  to June 30th – so great savings can be made on hundreds of goods at the shopping centres.

Ok, so maybe it is just a ploy to get everyone out there spending money – but who can resist a bargain?

When we arrived in Oz – it was coming up the EOFY so we were thrilled to find that all the furniture, electrical goods (and even the car we wanted!) was on sale… what a stroke of luck, seeing as we had stupidly given away most of our worldly goods before we left – to vulture-like friends.

Anyway, just thought I’d share that quickie with you – I’m now off to Channel 7 to talk about the absurdities on TV…(not related to this blog topic – more on that one next week!)

But I could be gone a while….

Have a good week, celebrate in style and buy some electrical goods…

Phrase one..

The first one wasn’t too much of a mind-boggler… here was the context:

“Due to a king tide, the sailing trip had been delayed”

Nothing too weird about that – you can understand that the ‘king’ bit means ‘large’.

But then came another news report…

“The man suffered major facial injuries after being king hit outside a nightclub”

What the…? Is it just me or is that a really strange expression?

Phrase two..

Then later in the week, my husband and I decided it would be time to take out some life assurance. We made an appointment with a very stereotypical agent; who managed to get us covered for nearly every eventuality known to man (I’m sure I’m never going to take up ‘free-running’) but the expression he used during the meeting was..

“You may be better to add on income protection at a later date; as it might make your premiums to exy”

…’EXY??’

The penny dropped a few moments later, during an unrelated conversation – which made me realise that he meant ‘expensive’

Only in Australia could they abbreviate a word like expensive and get away with it!!

Oh, I love living in Australia…  just keep tuning in so you can get the insider info – that the other sites don’t tell you!

Have a great week x

Weird but wonderful

Now you might think I’m going slightly mad, ‘why on earth is she posting a blog on custard apples?’

Well…

When I first arrived in Oz, I hurridly wanted to go out and taste new Aussie foods… as I love trying new and odd stuff, even if it is only once… (Witchetty grubs…. never again….shiver)

So obviously the sound of a ‘custard apple’ was very appealing…. ‘oooh, an apple – that tastes of custard?’ Very Willy Wonker.

But, once I had cut it open and stuck my spoon into it’s flesh, I soon decided that it wasn’t the delight I was expecting – it had an odd texture, that unfortunately made me wretch, somewhat.

I forgot about the poor little custard apple episode, and carried on with life in Oz, without it in my staple diet. Until the other day, when I ran into a wonderful organic foodstore and saw they were once again in season… still tempted by the name, I decided to give them another go.

Now here’s the thing… I did exactly the same as last time, cut it open, stuck in my spoon – only to my amazement it tasted utterly devine. How was that so? Was it that the last one was not ripe? Was it off? Or was it just that my palate had now changed to accommodate these new oddments?

No, it was only when I think back, that I remember I had been pregnant…. and as I tend to suffer with morning sickness, to the point that even breathing in the ‘wrong type of air’ would make me gag, it was little wonder that I couldn’t tolerate a custard apple.

So, now they are in season (March to July) I am going to make sure I make up for the last three years…. I may even bake a pie…  how very mid-west.

One more thing  –  I know they arn’t a native Australian fruit, but they do thrive in sub-tropical climates – so although we may get the odd cylcone, we can also grow our own custard apples!

And believe me, it’s better than snacking on witchetty grubs.

hmmm... spicy

Can’t blog…..  eating!

I receive many emails from people in the UK, most of them are quite straightforward questions, others are about utterly bizarre stuff, but nevertheless, we normally have fun figuring out the answers together.  But  sometimes I can sense an underlying depth of desperation in the midst of an email, it could be about a relocation question, or it could be on a more personal level.

It’s only when I recognise this, that the feelings I had when I first arrived come up to surface.You may well be living in the most beautiful country in the world (according to me) but when you are experiencing it without your best chums around, it can become a bit flat.

Finding friends is as easy here as it is anywhere, in fact it’s probably much, much easier here than in most countries. Aussies are walkabout folks, so to find one that was born and brought up in one area, isn’t as common as it is in the UK. One of the first questions they ask each other on a first meeting is ‘So, where ya from?’…. so really they could be as alien to an area as you.

So if you were worried you may feel ‘all alone’ let that be reassurance. It’s great to know that there are hundreds of other people, doing exactly what you are doing and feeling how you feel.

Just be aware of making Panic Friends…..

Hit it!

What is a panic friend I hear you cry?  Well, there will be occasions when you meet new people, have a chat, have loads to talk about and arrange to meet up again and swap numbers.  It’s only after inviting them round that you realise you actually have nothing in common with them, apart from that your Auntie lived in the same area as them in Weston-Super-Mare for 7 months in the early ’80′s. Not a good premise for a relationship if that’s all you can talk about.

So before rushing in with mobile phone open to ‘add contact’… take your time, suss people out and then you will undoubtedly meet true, honest to goodness lifetime friends.

Caught in weird gravitational pull... Hayley, Mix FM roadie and me.

I know… when I looked back at my blog I could hardly believe it myself…

FIVE months have passed since I last sat down and wrote a post

Where have I been?  What on earth could have kept me away from the keyboard of sanity that I had kept within arms reach for so many years?

Had I been abducted? Was I simply being lazy? Or was I trapped under something heavy and desperately trying to reach the laptop…?

Nope, it was just because of one word…

ZUMBA!

Yes, I was shoe-horned away from the confines of my study one day by a dear friend who had noticed that

a) I had become somewhat of a recluse

b) Become so horribly pastey through lack of sunlight that my skin had turned a grey, translucent shade

and c) fat.

In fact, if you cast your mind back to those Miss. Marple programmes in the 80′s, I looked like one of those unfortunate victims that had been dragged out the Thames after several days.

So, kicking and screaming I was taken against my will to my first Zumba class in Maroochydore…

And after the first 15 minutes, I was totally hooked.

I left all my inhibitions behind me… I danced the salsa, merengue and some type of hip-hop movement till I could physically dance no more, and loved every minute of it.

Once a week soon turned into twice and before long I was searching youtube clips so I could gyrate in the comfort of my own home.

So obsessed was I, that I signed up for the instructors course in Brisbane… so I could teach my own class!!

And yup, here I am today… writing by day, teaching Zumba by night… 3 nights a week, in little country towns around the Sunshine Coast, were the ladies go wild for it!

So, please forgive me for not posting earlier…

but it really was an itch I had no idea I had to scratch!

x

…and I loathe disorganisation!

But today I felt like I had finally got everything back on an even keel - so this morning I decided to make time to throw on some training shoes and get back into doing some exercise, as it seems my bottom has been widening by the hour.

So my BFF and I took a power walk along the boardwalk next to the beach. It seemed like a great day for it – partly cloudy, with just chinks of blue sky – perfect for a brisk walk and I was sweaty enough with my new-found burst of energy, without the sun beating down on me.

yes, that IS a bum-bag (how 80's)

But so caught up in breathless conversation were we, that we failed to notice the charcoal grey sky that had crept up behind us, so it came as an amusing shock when we turned at our halfway point to go back.

Unfortunately, our car was at least half an hour away – but in true mad ‘I don’t want to get my hair wet’  girly fashion… we sprinted like lunatics, hopeful that we might make it.

Sure enough, within seconds we were being bombarded by raindrops the size of small ostrich eggs… followed shortly by one of Queensland’s famous torrential downpours. And by this time we could run no more, so for the next 29 minutes we walked, slightly less enthusiastically back to the car - dragging our soaking wet bodies along.

Of course, once we got back to the car… the sun came out, as if nothing had ever happened, leaving us looking like fools.

There is no moral to this story, but I have learned that I will probably wait till the dry season to walk any lengths again… and until then I will just stick to ZUMBA…

… But that’s a whole other story.