Monthly Archives: August 2014

Bee Amazed

I always used to be terrified of yellow and black insects that buzzed and had a sting. Growing up in England, wasps were a constant menace in the summer invading picnics, walks, sunbathing sessions or flying through an open window and buzzing angrily around the house.

I still have vivid memories of unlocking the door to a hotel room in France and finding three hornets (and they can really sting, and multiple times) flying around. Even after the concierge had dispatched them to the next life with several applications of spray, I felt compelled to check there weren’t more of them hiding under the bed, under the pillow, in the cupboard or down the loo. And on holiday in France in 2003, there was a swarm of wild bees in the attic above my room. Although it was unlikely they would drop through the beams and descend on me in the night, I found it hard to relax with the intense humming-kind of sound going on above me. It was all a bit too reminiscent of one of Roald Dahl’s Tales of Unexpected.

I’ve got much less hysterical about wasps which is just as well as I get as many in my Melbourne garden as I did in London or Oxford. And I’ve recently learnt a lot about bees and developed a great respect for these magnificent creatures – thanks to my friends Felicity and Marc in Anglesea. Felicity is a writer and illustrator and she is currently working on a marvellous children’s book, Bye Bye Honey Bee. Check out her website at http://www.felicitymarshall.com.

I returned to Anglesea last weekend and visited Felicity and Marc’s beehive for the second time. What a deeply humbling experience it is to get up close and personal with bees and to observe how they work as a community, every member doing their bit for the whole. And, needless to say, it’s the girls who do all the work. In a typical colony there’s one queen bee, approximately one thousand male drones whose only job is to inseminate the queen, and about 60,000 female workers who are responsible for all the feeding, cleaning and nursing jobs and for defending the hive – unlike the boys, the girls do have stingers. Go girls…

Before I visited the hive for the first time back in May, I underwent an induction into the world of all things bee-related. Incidentally, there isn’t an adjective that describes or relates to bees. There’s apiary meaning a collection of beehives or apiarist meaning a beekeeper but no handy world like apian to sit alongside feline (beeline being already taken), canine, leonine, avian etc. Anyway, back to the story. Felicity and Marc lent me two fabulous documentaries: Queen of the Sun by Taggart Siegel (the director of the Real Dirt on Farmer John) and More than Honey by Markus Imhoof. There’s so much to learn about bees and their role in food production and the health of our environment. Sadly, the bottom line is that bees are the canary in the coal mine when it comes to environmental Armageddon. But before I get too bogged in the problems of industrialised farming, let me take a minute to wow you with some amazing bee facts.

 

Yours Truly in a bee suit

Yours Truly in a bee suit

Did you know that:

  •  One third of all food wouldn’t exist without bees
  •  Correctly stored, honey never goes off. Sealed honey vats found in Tutankhmun’s tomb were STILL edible despite being buried under the     sand for over 2,000 years.
  •  Bees have to visit approximately 2 million flowers and fly 55,000 miles (approx 88,500 km) to make one pound of honey.
  •  Worker bees perform a waggle dance which is a figure-eight dance that indicates to other bees in the hive where and how far the best sources of nectar are. If I had to choose a favourite bee factoid it would be this one: it’s so clever, it’s like a ‘beeline’ GPS system.

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Under Pressure

A bit of fun from a fellow blogger. Sometimes a pile of unread books can seem like another pressure. I was very lucky to receive a Kindle for my birthday last year. Having long resisted reading from a screen and letting more technology encroach on my life, I found the transition remarkably smooth. When I go overseas in October, it’ll be great to load up the Kindle rather than lug books around. And, owning a Kindle doesn’t stop me from reading ‘real’ books or buying them!

criticaldispatches's avatarCritical Dispatches

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The bookshelf above my bed is now beyond overloaded and I’m quite certain that it’s going to collapse any day now. We’re at breaking point. One of the screws on the bottom left corner is looking particularly dodgy, and despite my best efforts I can’t get the damn thing tightened back into the wall. I can only hope that if it’s to go then it goes while I’m out at work, otherwise I’m afraid it could kill me.

What a way to go. I wonder which book would do me in, who would be the publisher? Assassinated by Abacus; a Faber & Faber finishing; rubbed out by Random House; massacred by Pan MacMillan; ousted by the Oxford Press. Would it be a hardback that delivers the final blow? 1984 or Brave New World? One of those weighty paperbacks, the copy of Infinite Jest or the Hunter Thompson anthology, would definitely…

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Tales of a Dog Walker

You never know who you are going to meet when you’re out dog walking. I once read, for example, that actor Bill Nighy is a dog lover. He was quoted in the Age as saying: “I’m one of those people who stop in the street if they see an attractive dog.” I used to be like that before I got my own dog.

Since Bertie came along, dog walking is part of my daily routine. I haven’t met any actors let alone Bill Nighy (shame) but I have had fun people-watching in the various parks and dog-walking areas.

Dendy Park is a large off-leash area and seems to attract gaggles of gossiping dog owners who stand around while their dogs amuse themselves. There’s a lot of talking and very little walking. I like to stride out and get a bit of exercise (especially as I’m not a gym-going, pilates-practising, yoga-loving, marathon-running woman) but I find that I get pulled into conversations and can’t extricate myself.

Walking up to my local dog oval is the easiest and most convenient option, but one I only choose in extremis. There’s quite an eclectic mix here: still a few stand-arounders – either chatting, on the phone or occasionally throwing a ball for Fido; then there’s the old dears with little dogs in coats; a couple of prancing poodles with bows in their hair; a few boisterous Labradors and a few men in suits in deep communion with their phones – perhaps checking the share price – while the rest of us do laps. It never ceases to amaze me that this heavily peed and pooed upon patch of earth doubles up as a football pitch in winter and a cricket pitch in summer; an unholy alliance, I say. You see, this park is full of dog poo. And that’s because people are too busy chatting, texting or phoning to keep an eye on their dogs. That’s why I hardly ever go there. I did once fantasize about putting up a sign: Life is karmic: what goes around comes around. Shit happens to those who don’t pick up after their dog. But I thought better of it.

Just one suburb away is Elsternwick Park, a large open area with a couple of lakes, a children’s playground and, on Sundays, a strange phenomenon in the form of Pug Wood. This is where a group of pug lovers and owners plant a flag and gather round to talk all things pug. Unfortunately, I was a bit too far away to get a good picture, but you get the idea.

A Pug Wood Gathering

A Pug Wood Gathering


Elsternwick Park attracts more arty types than my own suburb which is full of dyed blondes with 4-wheel drives. Here the men wear bandanas and John Lennon glasses, a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The park has a distinctly grungy feel with a higher quota of rescue dogs.

My favourite place to walk Bertie is along the beach. Just a five-minute drive from my house is Melbourne’s iconic (and much photographed) beach hut beach. The world feels much less cluttered down by the sea; there’s plenty of sky and space, but it’s also a great place to meet people from all walks of life, whether it’s tourists snapping away at the huts, a bride and groom having their wedding photos taken, joggers decked out in matching lycra and the latest Nike running shoes or ordinary folk like me in jeans, fleecy jacket and much-worn lesser-brand runners.

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The social networking opportunities are second to none. Most mornings I meet Harley Davidson Man (HDM)walking his dogs sparky and chispa (like HDM I speak Spanish and so know that his dogs share the same name; chispa meaning spark in Spanish), a local builder who is busy buying and selling properties, a fellow writer whose first book has been published to great critical acclaim, fellow ex-pats, ladies who lunch and ladies who work or strive to change the world, retirees and lots of Asian tourists taking selfies and group shots in front of the beach huts.

I’ve found a wonderful new hairdresser through my beach friends, been invited to Bridge lessons, drinks, lunch and dinner, swapped recipes, publishing contacts and dog trainers. In fact, tomorrow Bertie and I are having our first one on one dog training session. I’m keen to stop him jumping up when people come to the door but, more than that, I want to get him to the required standard of obedience for us to take part in Story Dogs. Suzanne, the writer, helps to run the local Story Dogs scheme and told me about it. Story Dogs started in the USA and is a volunteer-run literacy program that helps children to read by teaming them up with a volunteer and a dog. The idea is that the children feel relaxed reading to a dog in a non-judgemental environment. A scheme that involves dogs and literacy gets my vote. It may be a little while before Bertie and I become accredited but we’re working towards it. All sorts of new worlds open for me at the beach.
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Homeward bound

I’m beside myself with excitement! I’m planning a trip back to England in October to see my parents and family and then tacking on an eight-day European adventure. It’s such fun organising it all and I have already imagined myself sitting in atmospheric cafes, walking along cobbled streets, wandering around ancient churches, tuning into different languages, browsing street markets and more. Although living in Australia I’m next door to Asia, it’s Europe that steals my heart.

I haven’t been over to the Northern Hemisphere since December 2012 when I spent three nights in Copenhagen on my way to England. It was December and yuletide was in full swing. I felt as if I were in a Winter Wonderland and relished every minute.

This time I had planned to return via Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. A small and compact city, it would have been perfect for strolling around and soaking up the Central European vibe, but the flight times from London were limited and at anti-social hours. So where else? Berlin continues to be all the rage but I wanted somewhere that wouldn’t bring on a full-blown attack of guidebookitis. (see my post: https://thisquirkylife.com/2013/10/12//).

Then I remembered that I had read about Krakow being the 7th and newest UNESCO City of Literature joining Melbourne, Edinburgh, Iowa City, Dublin, Reykjavík and Norwich. And, of course, it’s Poland’s second largest city and stuffed with historic interest and significance – from the largest medieval plaza in Europe and Kazimierz (the old Jewish quarter) to countless churches and ancient tombs, a vibrant arts scene, a still-functioning salt mine and, of course, Auschwitz nearby.

I managed to get the second last thirty pound fare on Ryanair from London and, through Airbnb, I’ve booked into an artsy and affordable attic room in a share house in the old part of town. One of the hosts is training in Traditional Chinese Medicine (right up my street) and dances the Tango in his spare time, and the other is a landscape architect specialising in community projects. Reading the many enthusiastic reviews they sound like wonderful people to engage in conversation, but they also appreciate peace and quiet and do yoga in the mornings. I know I am going to love it there.

From Krakow I am heading to Vienna for just under 24 hours and from there I will get the train to Zurich. Researching hotels in Vienna and what’s on at the Opera brought back all sorts of bittersweet memories from my au-pairing days in 1982. When I worked in publishing in London in the 90s, I contrived to spend a day in Vienna after a sales trip to Germany. I think I met with a couple of publishers and then found time to go back to the street where my erstwhile employers lived. With a thumping heart I rang the doorbell but no one was home. Perhaps just as well. After all, we didn’t get on that well; I gave my notice in half way through and then had to grovel my way back a week later when things with a new family across town didn’t go so well. Although they had seemed much more fun, less stodgy and starchy, and the children were older and capable of more sophisticated games than Mr Wolf, I hadn’t reckoned on a fur-shedding cat taking up residence on my bed or that a very bossy and imperious cook with orange hair and thick blue eye shadow ruled the roost and wrote all the rules. I was highly allergic to cats in those days, something the red-haired cook used to her advantage. That and endlessly comparing me, unfavourably, to the previous au pair. According to my research on Google the father of my original employers is still living in Reisnerstrasse, but this time, inspired by a phrase a friend sent me: “the past is for reference not residence,” I won’t be retracing my footsteps.

The girls I looked after in Vienna

The girls I looked after in Vienna

Instead I’m staying in a wonderful-sounding old-style hotel called Pension Suzanne right in the centre of Vienna opposite the Opera House. I’m really curious to see what modern day Vienna is like. Is it still a bastion of stiff manners, etiquette, snobbery (the family I worked for were minor aristocracy) baroque interiors, quartets playing Mozart and lots of strudel, noodle soups and sachertorte? And are the Viennese of a certain class still wearing the green Loden coats and hats with brushes on? Scanning what’s on in November, I see there’s still plenty of theatre, opera and classical music performed in historic costumes in ornate salons, but there’s also Mamma Mia, Mary Poppins and Lady Gaga. I think I’m going to find Vienna much changed!

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Frost with parrots

English people are renowned for obsessing about the weather (well, if that’s true it’s because they get their fair share of miserable Northern European grey skies, rain and chill) but, from my observations, we’re all pretty tuned into meteorology especially now we can access the forecast via our Smart phones.

Melbourne’s winter this year has thrown all sorts at us and, as an all-weather dog walker (try telling Bertie it’s pelting with rain and blowing a gale and we need to wait till it’s cleared), I’ve been out in some pretty inclement conditions. That’s where my UK training comes in handy: you simply layer up against the cold, don wellies, mac, hat, gloves and scarf and get on with it. Forget the whinging Pom thing, we’re remarkably resilient when it comes to weather.

We’ve had one of the coldest winters for many years with snow blanketing many places around Victoria that are normally untouched by such extremes. On Monday morning I was amazed to see a sprinkling of frost in the park when I took Bertie for a walk. I found it rather magical and it reminded me of Blightly, apart from the parrots screeching overhead, that is.

In the Bleak Mid Winter, Frosty Wind Made Moan...

In the Bleak Mid Winter, Frosty Wind Made Moan…

But on Sunday, the wind and rain held off and we enjoyed the most glorious winter sunshine. It was as if the weather Gods had called a truce and bathed sky and land in gentleness. I took Bertie on our favourite walk along the coastal path from Hampton Beach beyond Sandringham and towards Half Moon Bay. And what a wonderfully nurturing experience it was. As we descended the steps to the dog beach at Hampton, we passed a man chopping back some branches that had blown onto the path. He also had an orange ukulele with him and said he often came down to the beach to practise. Sadly I missed his practice but I did hear a Chinese woman singing a bit further along. She was sitting meditatively on a rock oblivious to passers-by and walkers. How I admired her insouciance! Then I met a South African couple walking Gorgeous, their Staffy. What a wonderful name for a dog. Everyone seemed to be smiling, even the dogs.

Looking towards Melbourne

Looking towards Melbourne

Looking towards Half Moon Bay

Looking towards Half Moon Bay

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For once I was not caught up in my head and felt really alive to what was going on around me: the calling of gulls; the gentle lapping of waves; the salty briny smell of the water; and the busy high notes of the fairy wrens as they flitted about. It was a day to breathe in, to feel the expansiveness and to be thankful.

Half Field Spaniel, Bertie loves being in the grass

Half Field Spaniel, Bertie loves being in the grass

We walked on and on, clambering up and over rocks, up and down grassy slopes, onto the path then back onto the beach for a bit of ball throwing and paddling. After a couple of hours, we stopped off at my favourite cafe, the Sandy Beach Kiosk by the Sandringham Yacht Club. It’s cosy, casual, scruffy, wonderfully unpretentious, serves hearty food and is dog-friendly. Over a cup of English breakfast (what else?!), I caught up with some other spaniel owners and their little girl, read sections of the Sunday papers and generally put the world to rights. A perfect Sunday morning.

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