English weather (4 November 2015)

I started the day by packing the car. The TVR has a truly prodigious boot, though by the time you have four cases of wine packed in the weight distribution gives rise to some interesting handling. The Maser, known affectionately as Sykes, has a smaller boot probably because anyone who could have afforded the car new would have sent their luggage in advance! The G is not known for travelling light but on this occasion she outdid herself. As I was packing bags into the boot I noticed one seemed to be full of shoes.

We are away for 6 days – so for me that means that I need 6 t-shirts. Pretty simple mathematics. Add to the 6 t-shirts a set of proper clothes for the Beechworth Celtic Dinner (yes, Imaginary Reader, I can hardly wait) and enough underwear and there you have it. I decided that I needed to check the bag with the shoes in. There were eight pairs; you read it right, there were eight pairs of shoes. Now given that The G was also wearing a pair that make a pair and half a day. Now that is a lot of shoes by any stretch of the imagination. I did challenge The G on this but the response was “I need then for my back”. This made so little sense to me that I decided that pursuing my line of enquiry was doomed!!

After much assessment, consideration and general application of skill I managed to fit it all in the boot. It helps that I was, in a former life a geometer, so I am not bad with shapes so long as they are in three or more dimensions. I am all good with the Leech lattice which some readers will know exists in 24 dimensional Euclidean space. I first heard of the Leech lattice in 1972 when I was doing a PhD in Pure Mathematics. Now, if you are in 2 dimensions and you have a few pennies then the greatest number of pennies that can touch a single penny is six. This is the called the kissing number. The exciting thing about 24 dimensional space is that a central 24-diensional ball can have 196,560 neighbours. That is really cool stuff and it blows my mind. And, of course, it helped me pack the car boot because I have a 24-dimensional car.

The weather was dismal. I can to Australia because I knew that in this country there was sunshine to order. Someone had forgotten to put the order in today as it rained continuously for the first 100 miles (160km in new money) or more of our journey. I grew more and more fed up with the noise of the windscreen wipers flopping back and forth. At least we weren’t in Ronnie the Rover since he lost a windscreen wiper a few months ago and I have still not replaced it. We were heading for Lakes Entrance where we are to stay in a place where I am promised a banquet or a feast. I am not sure what is the difference between a banquet and a feast is; both sound like a surfeit of food.

I cannot say why I bothered to wash Sykes before we left

We stopped at Eden which is where the whales came from, or perhaps they still do. They don’t kill them anymore like they used to (only the Japanese do that) but Eden was a whaling town. Today it isn’t really an anything town although they are building a wharf for passenger liners to tie up to. Eden had better sharopen up because all those passengers are going to want to do something and to find somewhere to spend their money. We had an early lunch and paid a visit to the Eden Smokehouse where Terry bought something but I do not know what.

I was pleased to leave Eden where there is, perhaps predictably. A garden centre called The Garden of Eden. Please make it go away.

By the time we crossed the border the rain had stopped and it was even getting warm when we made the mistake of stopping at a place called Cann River. Perhaps it wasn’t really a mistake because I was able to answer the call of nature. But I also visited the Cann River Bakery which was staffed by two women who seemed to be completely oblivious of the fact that (a) I wanted to buy something and that (b) once I had that I might want some change before the end of the century. There was (I assume there still is – I doubt it has fallen down in the last few hours) a rather imposing hotel called, somewhat imaginatively, the Cann River Hotel. About the only interesting facts I can glean about Cann River are that the Post Office opened in 1890 and that the town is named after the Cann river itself. The East Gippsland Catchment Management Authority promises a paper on the Cann River at an address that says “Sorry, we couldn't find that page. We'd still love to help though. Please try one of our menu items above”. I think that probably says everything.

The imaginatively named Cann River Hotel

From Cann River we drove along the so-called A1 (aka, I think, the Princes Highway – the same road that passes the end of our street (or pretty close to it)). We skirted the Lind National Park and saw a promising sign to Club Terrace. We resisted the temptation to see what cocktails were available, which was just as well as later I looked it up and found that the name Club Terrace must be some sort of joke.

By now the sun was shining and the road had dried and we began to make satisfactory progress. We passed Bellbird Creek and Cabbage Tree Creek. There must be hundreds of Cabbage Tree Creeks in Australia; they appear every couple of kilometres so far as I can tell. But I see from the omniscient annals of Wikipedia that “cabbage tree” can refer to an almost uncountable number of plant species so maybe people see a plant and think “that must be a cabbage tree, I will name this creek after it.”

We passed the Murrungowar Picnic Ground. This hallowed place is notable for the having the second most unpronounceable name on our trip so far. The most unpronounceable place name award goes to a place close to Genoa (which I have to say I thought was in Italy so I was surprised when it popped up in Victoria). We saw signs announcing the Croajingolong National Park. Now, when you see this written down you can build it up like you were taught at school. But when you are hooning down the highway at 100kph it’s really hard to work out what this word is and how you would say it. So Croajingolong has it over Murrungowar by a short head. Of course neither of these place names comes close to the New Zealand town of Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokai-whenuakitanatahu.

We flew through Orbost (originally a gold town) and then through or across a heap of other creeks (Simpsons, Wombat) and onto Nowa Nowa. Again I turn to the great god Wikipedia and I find an entry called “List of reduplicated Australian place names”. I didn’t know that Wagga Wagga, Bong Bong and Mooney Mooney were examples of “reduplicated” Australian place names. I would have thought “duplicated” would be enough: reduplicated would be like Wagga Wagga Wagga Wagga. Wikipedia lists 141 (I counted them) “reduplicated” place names. Nowa Nowa is not among them. I cannot say why but I have no doubt that its omission from the great Wik does Nowa Nowa a great disservice. Indeed my faith in the Wik has taken a great knock.

A short way out of Nowa Nowa Terry took us down Old Nowa Nowa Road to look at the Stony Creek Trestle Bridge. This marvel of Edwardian engineering has to be seen to be believed. This is a timber bridge 276m long and 19m high. The 19m uprights are not driven into the ground. Terry noticed that they are bolted to stumps that are set into the ground. I assume this must be to help with vibration. The whole edifice must have vibrated with almost infinite degrees of freedom. There’s no way it would pass any sort of engineering test today but it bore trains from 1904 until it closed in 1988. Apparently only one train ever fell off it.

The Stony Creek Trestle Bridge (L); what's left of the track (C); The G, Terry and Enid show the scale

The machines at rest

The bush at Goldsmith's

We made Lakes entrance by about 4 o’clock and being the technocrat I volunteered to crank up the map machine to find Harrison's Track which is where Goldsmith’s is situated. Goldsmith’s is where we are staying and it is here that we are promised a feast or a banquet (which ever comes soonest). I could not find Harrison's Track on Waze (my preferred navigatory app) but I did find it on Google Maps. We set off. The G excelled herself by doubting the map which led to a heated exchange but I may say (I have no trepidation in saying this) that I was right (or I should say Google Maps was right) as we turned up at Goldsmith’s safe and sound.

The couple who run Goldsmith’s bought the 60 acre block in 1980 and have been doing the accommodation thing for 17 years. Goldsmith homme has a brilliant job of looking after the bush and we took a walk with him. He pointed out no end of flora and fauna. He gave us leaves to smell and pointed out the calls of birds. My favourite bird has to be the Powerful Owl not only because it eats Sugar Gliders but also because it is referred to as “a powerful”.

An old gate

Goldsmith’s femme taught the culinary arts at the local TAFE before retiring so it was not likely that we would disappointed in the gastronomic line. Indeed we were not. The G has excelled herself, as ever, with her meticulous research and found us a place that is good. 

Our dinner (at least two courses - I forgot to photograph the desert)

And tomorrow I expect breakfast!!

Diddly didely

We awoke to a rainy morning. We breakfasted satisfactorily at The Pines and hit the high road.

The drive back from Nowra to Tuross is a reasonable one. The highway is packed in the summer but not so bad at this time of the year. There are a few things to look out for. One is Wandandian. Apart from having a cool name there is almost nothing remarkable about this small town. Evidence of this is the entry in Wikipedia: it is four lines long. I say that there is “almost nothing remarkable” because there are two things that I will remark upon. The first is an old post office on the left as you enter Wandandian heading south. This post office, which appears now to be a house, operated between 1935 and 1979. There is an older post office further south on the left. This is a recreation of the original post office but it looks more like an old shed to me. The only fact about Wandandian that Wikipedia tells me is that postal services came here in 1860.

A couple of Wandandian Post Offices.

The most important thing about Wandandia that amuses me every time I drive through is the sign that advertises “hot didely dogs”. Now, I know that the person who designed this sign meant to say “hot diddly dogs” but because “diddly” is not really a word he had nowhere to refer to check its spelling. He (and I am sure it is a he) did not think that “didely” rhymes with “widely” and that what he wanted was “diddly” to rhyme with “fiddly”. I invariably announce to The G that I will be stopping one time for a hot didely dog and she invariably replies that the man meant hot diddly dog which allows me to remark that this is not what he wrote.

The other thing on the drive from Nowra to Batemans Bay is a plethora of pie shops. Each of these pie shops claims to have the best pies. There have been several articles on which is the best pie. One assessed 10 south coast pie emporia. It failed to consider Hayden’s pies at Ulladulla but announced that the pies from East Lynne were the best. Tripadviser begs to differ and finds Hayden’s pies to be the best: this is based on (as I write 114 reviews) so is likely to be statistically more significant than the lone reporter who did not even try them. The G and I regularly stop at Hayden’s where the spinach and mushroom pie is a definite winner. We have tested an Easy Lynne pie back to back with a Hayden’s pie and found the Hayden’s pie to be superior in all respects.

Hayden’s is the only thing to recommend Ulladulla apart from Classique Upholstery at 60 Princes Highway who are kings of their trade. They have done several jobs for us and all have been good. But in general one is not passing through Ulladulla to visit upholsterers. So, unless you want a pie the best thing to do with Ulladulla is to leave it well alone.

With its lovely blue background and hip lower case you would think that there would be a warm welcome to the bridge plaza. You would be wrong.

They missed off "no shopping".

We called into the fish shop at Batemans Bay because they sell fine salmon. They are located in a place called the Bridge Plaza. The sign above the door spells this with lower case letters in a futile attempt to be trendy and to attract punters by the score. These punters would be sorely disappointed since bridge plaza (sic) is unutterably dull apart for the seafood on offer.

The operators of bridge plaza (again, sic) are killjoys of a particularly remarkable genre as evidenced by the sign to the right of the entrance which, as you can see from the picture, seems to allow you to do nothing. We wondered whether “no shopping” had been missed off. The funniest one is no motorcycles. Now this "plaza" is entirely indoors: there must be some real weirdos in Batemans Bat if they need to put "no motorcycles" on a sign. But then Batemans Bay is like Ulladulla with little to recommend it (apart from the fish shop). 

And now I am chilling. Washed a couple of cars, had a hair cut and am ready for my dinner. What a life!!

Pegging it out

The G had me up and about at the crack of dawn this morning. Well, not quite the crack of dawn but I suppose that against the backdrop of a holiday, breakfast at 0830 is indeed early. I breakfasted on a couple of poached eggs and bacon. This is probably no longer good for me because until last week bacon was OK to eat but now, it seems, it has been determined as injurious to one’s health. Worse, perhaps, it has been placed into a category of harmful substances that includes tobacco.

It is the World Health Organisation (delightfully abbreviated to WHO, for that is the question most people ask when confronted with this doubtless august body) that has determined this latest piece of gibberish. The BBC reported that according to WHO 50g of processed meat a day (less than two slices of bacon) increases the chance of developing colorectal cancer by 18%”. Furthermore we learn that red meats are "probably carcinogenic" but that there is limited evidence. The BBC’s report then goes on to say that WHO did stress that meat also had health benefits.

This is really silly. Firstly we have been eating bacon for years. It is a useful and tasty meat (especially done with maple syrup and served with pancakes à la Canadienne). How can Father bring home the bacon now without endangering the lives of his little ones? And, worse, when I look at the BBC’s report I will be worried sick that I will be sick from this morning’s breakfast. How can I balance the risks of eating read meat with the apparent health benefits? What does this mean? How can I cope?

I shall continue to enjoy the occasional bacon butty!

Well I coped perfectly easily by ignoring this utter drivel and enjoying a couple of poached eggs and a couple of rashers of bacon and revelling in the fact that there were no carbs there. I also took comfort from the comments of a man called John Berardi, Ph.D who wrote in the Huffington Post (so it must be true) about eggs. He said that “Egg paranoia has been based on the old assumption that eating the yolks will raise blood cholesterol (and increase your risk for artery and heart disease)”. I didn’t read to end of the article as I got bored but the tenor and tone leads me to suppose that he concludes that eggs are OK. I will keep eating them as well as bacon.

I did not mean to get onto a health kick today; it’s just the way it turned out. My apologies, Imaginary Reader.

We set off to find coffee. The G has the highest possible standards for coffee and has an eye for spotting and a nose for sniffing out likely coffee places. She had espied such a place on our last trip to Nowra and we found it again. This place is called Hyper Hyper Coffee. There were several reasons why this place appealed to us. They roast their own coffee and some was roasting as we watched. It was a little on the mild side for us (The G always has a double shot in a cup not a mug) but was good nonetheless. They also had a record player which was playing real records: we listed to Robert Johnson and a few other blues greats as we drank our coffee sitting in an unusual seating area (see the picture). And, frankly, Gentle and possibly Imaginary Reader, I do not give a shit if coffee is bad for me.

Hyper Hyper coffee: the picture on the right shows that you could choose to sit in a rock (like the proverbial shag) or on a milk crate covered with artificial turf. We were shags.

A horse from the Flying Pig Precinct

We went to Berry. I am unable to divulge all the results of our Berry experience for otherwise the anticipation of Christmas for some possible readers of this epistle will be dulled. But I did invest in a bottle of 12yo Hellyers Road to add to the collection. I say “invest” because there will be a return. I pay good money for a bottle of Scotch and I become a better man through the drinking of it. And that is a fact. Pure and simple.

We also visited a gallery called Thinkpig which had been closed every time we had been there before. We acquired a horse as pictured.

We resisted the lure of the pie shop (I cannot recall its name) as we are to lunch today with friends. But I have to say that this pie shop makes a very fine lentil and mushroom pie. I will need to work out how to make one of these myself.

A peg. A very large peg.

Those who know the The G and me will know how it is when we holiday. There is no peace. I have remarked elsewhere that The G plans all. There is no downtime. One is hustled from one sight to the next. This is not leisure: this is vacation with purpose. There is nothing I can do about this and, therefore, I was directed to Unreal Rocks. Unreal Rocks, the brainchild of one Grant, invites you to “stroll through the grounds and experience the craftsmanship of [its] artworks situated throughout the gardens”.  We are told that they “offer a diverse range of statues to suit all tastes”.

We took them up on their invitation and proceeded to stroll. I was a little uncertain about this but then we saw The Peg. There is picture here of the peg. It is a magnificent thing that appeals completely to our whacky sense of things. It stands almost 3 metres high and looks like an aged and weathered Australian hardwood. We bought it. Of course we did. Grant told us that House and Garden were coming to do a feature on him and his statues and that The Peg was big on the list for a photograph. It will come early in 2016 and will be a graceful addition to the statuary collection.

It was pretty bloody hot and humid so we took the roof off Ted and drove topless. You get a much better sense of the exhaust noise. One of the benefits of a noisy car is that you cannot easily carry on a conversation. This suits me but not The G who likes a bit of a chat (she claims not to be good a small talk but if she’s not good at it then heaven forbid I should ever meet someone who is good at it). We lunched with friends then back to The Pines.

A fine looking beast.

We decided that we would have an evening of filmic entertainment. We are not great movie goers but we went to see Burnt. I see from IMDb that this movie has a 6.8 rating (out of 10 before you ask). That’s probably about right. We enjoyed it but two things occurred to me. The first was that no two Michelin star chef would fiddle with every plate that was going out. The G made the not unreasonable point that he (Adam Jones played by Bradley Cooper) was a perfectionist. That’s true but that would have got in the way before the first Michelin star. The second quibble I have was the “love interest”. Sure, Sienna Miller is easy on the eye but at the point of the inevitable kiss I thought “here we go, same old tired shit”. It would have been so much more interesting if his love interest was Tony the maître d’ (Daniel Brühl). Nonetheless we ambled back in a light drizzle and, as Samuel Pepys would have said, so to bed.

Hot drivin' to The Pines

Well, Granite Town is over for another year. We were joined yesterday by our friends Neil and Lesley and saw a fine set of artists. Neil is a rock aficionado and has forgotten more stuff about the history of rock than I know. So well-informed is he that he hosts his own personal radio show at 2earfm. He will, I think, be Australia’s answer to John Peel (I have just started reading Goodnight and Good Riddance by David Kavanagh which is a new biography of Peel). I have been introducing Neil to a few well-chosen and handpicked artists including Kirsty MacColl (daughter of Ewan and tragically killed by a boat in Mexico in 2000) and my all-time favourite and rock ‘n‘ roll hero Warren Zevon. It is hard to credit that man like Neil, with a knowledge of rock as encyclopaedic as his is, was not across Warren Zevon’s extensive and brilliant oeuvre. But then you can never tell.

But back to Granite Town … we saw some spectacular acts. My first favourite was Alice Terry and The Skinny White Boys. Do not confuse this Alice Terry with the American film actress of the same name who died in 1987. This one is a local girl from Moruya and you can glimpse her at www.youtube.com/watch?v=8awtSIPtI6k. She has a spectacular voice and her guitarist was a brilliant proponent of the “less is more” school. Interestingly, their start was a little delayed because the (upright) bass player had a broken string. Broken bass strings are rare indeed. Oddly enough, this bass player was a female which hardly qualifies her as a skinny white boy. But we’ll let that pass for now.

Alice Terry: brilliant voice and a great performer

She managed to borrow a bass from the other of my favourites who were The Waifs. I had seen the Waifs about 12 years ago in Margaret River at a winery (but I cannot recall which one). They played a very engaging show to an audience that was halfway to heaven because one of their number, Josh Cunningham, is a local boy (or perhaps was a local boy as he now lives in the US).

We left before the end because at our advanced age we cannot take the late nights so we were back by 22:30!

Whether Granite Town has done enough to ensure that it can survive into next year remains to be seen. I think that they did not quite sell enough tickets. I had been involved with them at the beginning of the year but unfortunately my other commitments (that sounds impressive) meant I needed to withdraw. We shall see.

Ted the TVR: a fine machine

Today we blasted off to see Dr Hook. We travelled in Ted the TVR. Ted has no air conditioning and the day was a little humid and so we were hot. Ted also runs slightly hotter in warmer weather (not surprisingly) so we were gently cooked. But nonetheless driving Ted is a joy and we made it in fine, if noisy, style to Nowra.

We are staying at The Pines. The G finds all these places and this one is pretty good. We have a room. We have a bathroom. There is a bed. All is good. We were welcomed by a young woman (the daughter of The Pines: there is a Mother as well) who made us a cup of tea. Gosh this is more exciting than I can tell you. What I can tell is that The Pines is old, nearly as old as I am and in Australian terms that is pretty ancient.

The Pines: an old Australian house

Dr Hook put on a good show, very different from the funk, reggae and ska fare of last night. Dennis Locorriere (for it is he who is Dr Hook) is a slick soft rocker with a very definite West Coast edge. The audience were all incredibly ancient. Some were even older than I am. I am sure a good time was had by all.

Tomorrow we go to Berry. There is a bottle shop in Berry which has a fine selection of all sorts of good stuff.