XMas in July /Country Pub weekend

   It is a great weekend when two old favorites can be combined in such grand fashion.  Driving around in the country, seeing the sights and staying at old country pubs is always fun. Add the traditional Christmas in July celebrations with Kev's social group and it is truly a memorable two and half days.  Join us on this picture perfect weekend.

 Plan on making stops. Whether its a national park like Yalgorup for a walk & wave to kangaroos or meandering the path through a rare mangrove swamp or stopping in at the local farmers market or getting windswept while watching dark clouds roll over the Indian Ocean- it's all good. We're always on watch for those brown tourist site signs. Some are flops (boring pit, zzzzzzzz) and some are  real finds.

    Quindanning Hotel. A country pub with a pedigree. This is in the middle of nowhere.  A true destination in of itself and heavy promoter of X-Mas in July weekends. Alas, our group is not staying here. Not because of the cold (guest rooms don't have fireplaces or space heaters) but communal bathrooms are not preferred. Pity. This place is a beauty. Jarrah wood panelled walls, roaring fireplace in every 

common room, nearby river and  history to spare.  The staff is not particularly customer service oriented or welcoming but great warmth can be found in the locals and their kids  (local = within 25 miles) hanging out for a decent feed and a cheap beer at the very Irish-oriented bar. Even had an Irish gal, Fiona, working the bar and her magic on the guys who pop in for a pint.

   

A little more diversion, shall we?  Red Cross thrift stores and CWA meeting houses in the smallest of towns. Roadside stands selling produce. Almost passed the mandarin "stand". It was a refrigerator lying on its back. The bags of fruit were in the refrigerator section  and your money gets put through the slot in the locked freezer section. A little cold, hard cash for a farmer's extra produce. Oh, can't forget old, little churches with their water tanks & spooky outhouses and the occasional winery or two. Or three. It's all good. But the party is about to start.  Let's go to Bunbury  and ...

 

The Rose Hotel. A country pub in the city (Bunbury is no longer as way out there as it used to be) with all the expected embellishments: similar shape, balcony with wrought iron rails, affable dog, aging furniture, lacking heat, communal bathrooms and charm to spare. This hotel actually has custom carpeting with its initials woven in it and an old-fashioned telephone exchange at the lobby desk (now just decorative). The lobby begs to be used in an Agatha Christie movie, although how they would explain the suit of armor in the corner by the door I'm not sure.

 

The Rose does not market itself well. It's known for its steak and fish, but this place is empty on a prime weekend--of both staff and visitors. A bit more business savvy and this place could do much better.  We are not in the main building but in the motel section out back. We have space heaters and a short walk across the parking lot to the main building.
After a pre-supper get together we head over for the big meal.

  Christmas crackers with the paper party hats and lively conversation.  The hors 'oeuvres was a spectacular snapper with prawn cream.   The turkey and ham main entree was purely institutional, cut right from the roll. Sigh.  But we are in good company.  I like going to the events sponsored by the social club at Kev's work.  I like the people.  I like these weekends in the country.
   And because I like my mother , I am putting one last photo on this entry.  Mom complains that she never sees me in the blog (hey, I'm the camera guy as well as the writer)  and I have many excuses why I don't want to be....  but here you are, Mom:

Kev & Hilary at the Rose Hotel,  July 2010

The Fourth of July 2010

   Yep, looks like it is a tradition in our house. Roasted turkey with stuffing, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, pumpkin soup and  cranberry sauce all in quantities guaranteed to put the average human being into a food coma.  Thanksgiving, you ask?  Nope. The American day of Independence- the 4th of July.  It's cold out here folks. Turning on the oven helps warm up at least part of the house. Besides, the weather is too warm at the end of November to have a 23 pound turkey roasting all day.  If you are going to switch the seasons on me, I am going to switch the menus. Thank you very much.

   And one tradition begets another.  Our friend and neighbor Keith really likes turkey.  He doesn't cook much for himself, so we invite him over fairly regularly for supper.  Naturally, the 4th of July is the perfect occasion for all of us.  I play American patriotic music, Keith enjoys  his favorite poultry and Kev has his lunches planned for the week. Keith always brings over champagne to our little dinner parties (both he and I really enjoy a glass or two of "champers") Last year, as a surprise, Keith also brought a mudcake (a cross between pound cake and cheesecake) wonderfully decorated with an American flag. On top were a few star shaped sparklers. Oh, what fun!
   This year he kind of came to the same conclusion that we did. Once is an event, twice is a tradition. So with the bottles of champagne came a large box.  No peeking!  On goes the patriotic music CD, the guys talk sports while I put the finishing touches to supper.  Kev and I alternate cooking duties but he never attempts The Turkey Dinner.  After we ate our fill, the order comes, "Hilary, close your eyes!"   And I wait.  I hear the box opening. I hear matches being struck. I smell the odor of sulphur filling the room. And......voila!

Here comes the Fourth of July surprise!

An airy sponge cake decorated with chocolate writing and a few of the really cool star shaped sparklers. Along with a handful of American flags. Absolutely perfect.               

I haven't properly introduced you to our Keith. He is  a native son of Western Australia, indeed of the very neighborhood we live in. His elementary school is a few blocks north. He has "officially" retired a couple of times but cannot stand the boredom of being still. Keith and Kev both belong to the same lawn bowls club (that's how they met.) He has never been out of the country or even flown in an airplane. (A rarity for an Australian) But he does like to hear other people's stories.   He has never seen snow (not so rare for an Australian) and enjoys a bit of gardening. He helps care for the landscaping at the bowls club and even our mini patch of dirt while we are away.  He is a very good neighbor that way.  When we are out of town, he collects our mail and keeps an eye out on the place.

And we enjoy our Keith's company every time he comes for supper.

Australia's First Female Prime Minister

    Politicians long ago figured out that it is best to release bad news when no one is looking. You know, at 5:30 p.m. on Friday or when some other happening has totally engulfed the public's attention.  I suppose the Australian Labor Party thought  the Socceroos defeat and elimination from the World Cup in South Africa was distraction enough to lay their egg.  It wasn't.  

    I have mentioned before in this space that I have never quite figured out how Australia's political system works.  Elections seem to be called at the drop of a hat and a dip in popularity seems to spell instant doom to a public career.  The now former Prime Minister (the equivalent to President) got into a bit of public displeasure. He couldn't convince other world leaders that his environmental plan was the best. He was having trouble convincing mining companies that an extra tax on all their profits over 6% was a good idea.  And in the game called Australian politics, this failure to produce miracles or achieve election promises overnight spells Doom. Some late night, closed-door meetings by Party heads sees his departure the next morning and the installation of the deputy PM into the top job.
   I am not the only one puzzled as to how this happens.  I went to an FAQ page set up to explain it to Australians themselves. This is what it said: [Note: MP=Member of Parliament]

But I voted for Kevin07, not Julia Gillard.  How is this allowed?
Technically, we vote for 150 MPs across the country, and the prime minister only keeps their job for as long as they keep the support of most of the majority of their MPs. So it's the right of the Labor MPs to dump a  leader if they choose.

But is that fair?

In practice, the 2007 campaign was all about Kevin.  They even had T-shirts made (which didn't say "Labor07" after all). Sot to dump him is to take a gamble that most voters are happy enough to see him go, and that Julia Gillard is popular enough for voters to not think it's unfair to ride on Kevin07's wave while it suited them, then knife him once it didn't. That's why he said last night: "I was elected by the people of Australia."  It's a reminder to nervous MPs that he got them where they are.

The thing is, they're now more interested in who is going to keep them there.

   Enter Julia Gillard, Australia's first female Prime Minister.  Born in Wales, she moved to the state of South Australia (which explains her wicked back country accent) at age 6 for her health. Obviously a person of great ambition, drive, presumable intelligence and red hair (!), she now finds herself in the top job.  
   Surprisingly, there is very  little reaction by the public to this historic appointment. Beyond a bit of media build up on the first day, there is no real big fuss being made.  I don't hear people talking about it.  Perhaps Kev's reaction sums it up, "Same party, different face."  This must resonate with the Labor Party as the talk is now to call an election. They'll want to do it soon, while good will is still in the air.  They'll want to do it at all to legitimize her ascendancy.
   The whole thing reminds me of a ping pong game played at too fast a pace. I can't imagine why anyone would want to join this game.  Politics seems like a very harsh mistress indeed.

4:31 a.m.

    A rather odd thing to wake up  a sleeping person way before dawn. Not the fact that I left my beet and apple seedlings uncovered against the night cold (which I did, oops) or that I hadn't taken any meat out of the freezer for tomorrow's -- make that, tonight's -- supper (which I didn't, oops again). I woke up with thoughts of job hunting in television...15 years ago.
   So odd.  I don't work in television anymore.  Full-time, part-time or freelance. News or Production. Haven't in a couple of years. So why do such old thoughts pop into mind and disturb my sleep?
   The realities, at the time, were mildly disturbing.  When I was looking to stay local, some of the options simply weren't rosy. The public access cable station needing a volunteer coordinator was little more than Fred Flintstone era equipment in a large closet. Shouldn't have been surprised, but I cut my television teeth at a model public access station. It's equipment wasn't state-of-the-art, but it achieved much with better resource.  The other niggling item was the shockingly low pay being offered people who had to have considerable experience. The Ohio State University medical compound had a video division which offered exactly half what the broadcast entities were paying.  Not sure if I was able to hide my shock at that bit of news.  And it was a huge reality check to see just how little production people thought of news people, nationwide.  I dare say this feeling became mutual. Those folks who make commercials or episodic programs - with their black clothes, pony tails and John Lennon glasses - couldn't start in a day what a competent news photographer could complete in a hour.  Production people, in turn, thought news people were just hacks with no ability beyond 'running & gunning'. 
   So what difference does any of this make this life, this year, this hour? None that I can see. Maybe that's the issue?
   Stuff and nonsense. I'm going to take some hamburger out of the freezer.