Speed is of the essence

How do you say Thalys? I say it Tarlis. Maybe it is Taylis. It is the high speed express train that will transport us from Amsterdam at the conclusion of our Euro river trip to Brussels. Train travel is not cheap in western Europe, but for an extra ten Euro, we are travelling first class.

Depart cruise 10.00, 11.18 Thalys depart Amsterdam, arrive Brussels 13.08, Eurostar depart Brussels 14.52, arrive London 16.03 (one hour time difference).

Now this is interesting. I put us on an alert list for our train journey from London to Newcastle as it was too early to book. At about 10.00pm many days later the email alert arrived.  11.00am is a civilised time to catch a train in London, as the the hotel check out will probably be 10.00am. £30 for both of us. We paid £24 in 2008. Not too bad. I noticed only £49 to go first class. That might be nice and we would not be in the company of that dreadful woman from Darlington who talked non stop for the journey north in 2008.

I am a cautious person. I got our paperwork out, double checked times and dates. 'R, come and have look at this and make sure I have it correct'. All good and click buy the first class, but the session had timed out.

I went back and our details were still all there. Take two.  Well, the first class price of the 11.00am train had jumped to £89.

These varying fares depending on on how early you book and what time you want to travel are quite mysterious to we Australians who are used to set price fares. We might book a few days before if we think a train might be in high demand, but then we don't really use trains to travel such distances. We are more likely to fly and yes, I am sure there are very cheap flights that could be had, but train travel is enjoyable and part of the holiday. Air travel is to be endured.

In a plaintive and whining tone, I asked R what to do, and with confirmation from R, I went ahead. So what did I do? Pay £89 for first or £30 for economy?

Primogeniture and ectoplasmic

My, they are big words and words I recently read on blogs. They were not out of context but I had not heard of them. Do you all know already and I am the ill educated one?

Pull the first word apart. ture, is always kind of an ending thing and of no consequence. Look at primo and gen. Gen might be gene, and it is. Primo, prime, first. Prima donna. Could I suggest prime gene? While I looked it up when I read the post, I have forgotten already. Prime gene is not telling me enough.

Here is what Wikipedia says.

Primogeniture is the right, by law or custom, of the firstborn child to inherit the family estate.

While in the western world this has been disappearing in more recent times, it does at times still happen, as it did to a friend of ours whose older brother inherited the family farm and she and her sister got nothing.

Now, ectoplasmic. While ectoplasm has a biological meaning, I think this what was meant where I read the word:

An immaterial or ethereal substance, especially the transparent corporeal presence of a spirit or ghost.

Yes, I can see how that could be used in a more general sense. However, I can't imagine that I will be able to slip either words into a blog post or general conversation. And that's my learnin' over for the day.

Helpful Neighbours

Jackie has a ripper tale about when husband put some eggs on to boil and then went out.

While it is a bit different, ABI Brother also had an experience of helpful neighbours. He was away, having taken Mother down to the Bellarine to visit Sister for a couple of days at Christmas. He returned home to find his power and gas switched off and food spoiled in his refrigerator.

Someone was walking past his place and he thought he smelt gas at Brother's house. He called 000 and the full emergency services responded, fire brigade, police, State Emergency Service volunteers and his gas company. 

It was ascertained that there was not a gas leak and no cause for alarm was found. However as a precaution, his gas and electricity was shut off. (Who ordered that?)

Brother took it in his stride. I would be mega pissed orf.

Brother with his acquired brain injury, ABI, is a strange specimen. He concerns himself with money down to the cent, yet has no compunction about spending $10,000 on a three week holiday following cricket in South Africa. He will lend Mother money, but she has to pay it back also to the cent, before he will lend her any more. Much of how he is now is a result of the rehabilitation by the Transport Accident Commission. I am not critical of them, because they did a marvellous job, but he is a bit strange at times. Before his accident, he had a mobile phone. That was more than a decade ago, yet he won't have one now. It will cost too much, he says.

For years he paid an ultra cheap broadband company for his internet, which  didn't really work, to the point where he did not really know how to use the internet. He now pays quite a high price to our big telco and has excellent service. He does seem to be able to email at least and do some internet things.

He will fly into Melbourne at 6pm on Sunday and we have realised it is a convenient time for us to pick him up and bring him back here where he will stay the night before catching the train home. I emailed his Cape Town hotel to tell him. Who knows if that will work. Who would have thought how difficult a nine hour time difference would be to make a phone call, but it has proved to be so. I expect Grace would endorse that last last sentence.

Then I realised it was Grand Pricks week and my work had changed. Instead of not working Sunday and Monday, I am now not working Thursday and Friday. R will have to go to the airport on his own to pick up ABI Brother. What seemed like a kind thing to do has gone wrong and all fallen to R to do.

Later: The airport pickup went well and ABI Brother had a great holiday in South Africa. His favourite  place was Cape Town.

Suday Selections

I am getting low on photos now for Sunday Selections. Too much working. Check what River, Elephant's Child and Jackie have posted for the week.

Funny old frame with a modern poster at Flinders Street Station. Normally I like such old things to be kept, but it just looks shabby. There are a couple of them. I wonder if Australian National Travel Association is still around.

It seems the ANTA is no longer around, but I have just worked out what they used to hold. A poster like this example.

 Third world problem, no lavatory.

I have quite a number of tools, but it is rare now that I need more than what is here in these two boxes.

These are great for fixing spectacles and for use on small screws such as remote controls. They came from the Two Dollar Shop, and guess how much they cost? You are all so clever to get the answer correct.

No not a new style of parking in St Kilda Road, but a crash.

We had a few days of warm humid weather and condensation was pouring out from the air conditioner. Rather than just drip from the balcony, the heating element evaporates the water away. I bet it costs a bit to run though. The water must reach a certain height in the tray before it switches on.

Before we tinted The Highrise windows, the reflected light in the late afternoon could be blinding and we would have to close the blinds. Now we only close the blinds against the direct sunlight in the morning.

Don't know why I took this photo of my bedroom and set it aside for posting.

Marina is not a ship I recall visiting us before.

The pumpkins outside Melbourne Town Hall have disappeared a couple of times and have been replaced. R took these with his phone and did quite a good job.

Why? I don't know.

Wide and brown land

Australia is a big country and continent. It is almost as large as the United States of America. It takes 5 hours to fly from Brisbane to Perth, that is east to west, and north to south, over 5 hours to fly from Darwin to Hobart.

When R's late parents visited us, they were told they had crossed the Australian coast line, and so began to get their things together to before the plane landed. They had crossed the northern coast of Australia and it was still five hours before they could set foot on Australia.

This map clearly shows the states of Australia, with me being in Melbourne, Victoria, right down near the bottom. The Tropic of Capricorn runs through Queensland near Bundaberg across to below where the Ashburton River is marked in the west, so the climate is very varied from tropical in the far north to much cooler in the south. Much of the interior land is desert and cannot support many humans. We cling to the coastline.

Within mainland Australia are also two Territories, Northern Territory and Australian Capital Territory. The administration is somewhat similar to the states, but they don't have Premiers, rather Chief Ministers. The ACT, within the state of New South Wales, encompasses the capital city of Canberra, the seat of our Federal Government. 

Within the states are smaller local government areas, usually called Cities or Shires.

So we have three levels of government, Federal, State and Local and I recently heard that we are the most urbanised country in the world.

Friday Foolery

German Chancellor Angela Merkel recently visited England and spent time with the British Prime Minister, David Cameron. There are photos. Some are quite incriminating. Don't look Samantha.

"Ange, I promise. I have no recording devices on me".

Or was it "Ange, wanna see my private school boi tits"? His seduction technique was subtle.

"Ohh Davey, you are so very naughty."

"Oh my god Cammo, Queen Victoria was one of us. Who would have known she had such a sense of humour."

Or was it, "Cammo, we really shouldn't be laughing about President Hollande like this in public. There by the grace of god go we".

The Merke demonstrating her husband's size, which seems quite impressive compared to Cammo's size. Sam Cam sits in the sidelines, perhaps wishing she had married a German. Nevertheless, it is not always about size but attraction.

"Scheisen British weather. It is fine and sunny back in Berlin."

Cammo took The Merke to his local church service and they were mesmerised by the Very Reverend Beauchamp's sermon about forgiving and forgetting. The Merke perhaps less so.

Cammo and The Merke hit the dance floor, quite restrained initially.

But as my great grandmother warned my grandmother about dancing, one thing leads to another. Sam Cam had left, but she forgot one of her children, as is her habit, and came back. Sam Cam was not happy at what she saw.

It seems the Anglo Germanic relationship is really close now. Diplomacy works in so many fashions. 

Herbie's Ignominious End

A Mother Day

As usual, Mother was on her death bed when I arrived to take her out. She went on and on about her medical problems. In summary, she is perfectly hale and hearty. She is addicted to codeine for arthritic pain, and the codeine is causing her bowel problems, and didn't she go on about her rumbling stomach and her constipation and diarrhoea. From the lunch out, to the chemist, to the bank, to the newsagency to supermarket, to Big W, did I hear about her bowel problems, and many others did too.

She insisted I check that ABI's Brother's house is ok and to start his car, because apparently its battery will go flat if it is not started weekly. People in our building leave their cars for three months or more, and they still start. Brother's neighbour was supposed to be collecting his mail, but the box was full of mail, some quite old. I think miscommunication. A large branch had broken off a wattle tree had broken and fallen onto his garden, and an enterprising business had left a card at his front door, advertising their tree removal service.

We were running out of time when shopping as Mother had an appointment at her doctor's where a caravan was set up to do scans for osteoporosis. I will have to come back after the appointment, she said. No Mother. I am not taking you back to the shops. I want to go home at a reasonable hour. I am not of such generous spirit as R, but then I don't complain afterwards.  Give me some money and I will finish the shopping and give the receptionist my card and get her to call me when you are ready to be collected.  I finished the shopping, emptied her vacuum cleaner, found the stick from under her bed to put the sunblinds up and down, unpacked her groceries and the phone rang and she was ready for collection. Once home I assured her of the safety of very convenient power point behind a photo she had forgotten about and not assured her about the taped up wires in her laundry that used to be the laundry light switch.

"The sun blinds were up but I didn't want to ask my friend Alan to come and put them down, so I just turned the air con to a lower setting." She has had air conditioning for thirty years, and she still doesn't get it. Speaking of which, she told me on our Labour Day holiday, she will have lived there for forty years. I did some mental arithmetic and that would be right. It was before I had my driving license and I used to catch the train to her town from the Latrobe Valley to visit and walk or get a cab to her place. The last task is to put her bins out, except it is day early. I put them near the gate and the lezzos next door will put them out on the street for her.

So that was my day off from work blown to hell. It followed the usual pattern. Miserable Mother upon arrival, brighten up as the day went on, and then tired and needing her nap in the later afternoon (or pass out from overdosing on codeine) .

But never underestimate her. Sister booked The Cuckoo for Mother's eightieth birthday, but Mother got on the phone and rearranged the table. It seems Mother is claustrophobic and needs to be near a window. After some conversation, it was resolved, but 'Mrs C, you will be on two tables instead of one and bench seats'. 'I am a poor widow with many medical issues. I am very panicky that the food will upset my bowels and the oompah band will be too loud and I don't like people brushing past me when they are going to get food. We will need cushions and my daughter's back is not good, so the benches need to have to have backrests.'

To conclude, I posted a letter for her to Sister, informing Sister that she couldn't take the trip to Bright to see the autumn leaves. Half way through the three hour trip, they would stay overnight in Euroa. Check out at 10.00am. Mother is never ready for anything by 10.00. But she had my sympathy on this. Sister will have them all in bed by 8.300pm and up at 6.30am and ready to go by 8.30. Sister will nag Mother to hurry up. Little Jo will stay, 'Gee Nanny, you are slow'. Bone Doctor will say she is wasting time standing outside and smoking and firmly reject giving any kind of free diagnosis of Mother's medical problems.

What can I do? She is my mother.

Grease is the Word

Thanks to very generous friends, we saw the musical Grease at Her Majesty's Theatre on Sunday night. It was an enjoyable production with many laughs. The performance was for 6pm, which is a very odd time for us as we usually have dinner between 7 and 8.

I had seen the film when it was first released back in (checking) oh, we won't go there. It was the last time I saw a film at a drive in theatre and shortly after the Toorak Drive In closed. Anyway, I remember little of the film, except John Travolta and Oliver Newton John dancing.

I knew Rob Mills was the male lead in this production. The female lead was Gretel Scarlett, unknown to me. I thought Lucy Maunder was ever so good as Rizzo and she was my fave.

Much to my surprise, veteran Bert Newton played a radio dj and judge of a dancing competition. Bert being Bert did not take the role too seriously. More to surprise, Val Lehman, best known as Bea Smith in the television show Prisoner (Cell Block H), played the school Head Mistress. Then there was the very cute Anthony Callea performing and a couple of appearances by singer, dancer and dancing show judge, Todd McKenney. He too did not take it too seriously and was very funny.

You can see more about the show at the website and check out the cast.There are some very attractive people (read hot guys) there.

We left the theatre around 8.20 and strolled to the ever manic China Town for dinner. None of us was overly hungry and so only had some light food. We were home by 9.40.

So that was my musical for the year, err maybe except for London.

Catching the train to Kew

I don't why, but there was once a train to Kew. That is right in the middle of Kew, not far Kew. Kew is perfectly well serviced by trams. Although I would bet if the train still ran, it would be well patronised now, nay packed.

I walked the route, from Hawthorn Station to where Kew Station was. Lordy, it was a hot day. I'm not doing another of these until the weather is cooler.

From my late grandfather's street directory, here is a map showing the train route. Just two stations off the main line, Barker and Kew. The line opened in 1887, which answers why it was needed, as trams were not much about then. Trains stopped running on the branch line in 1952.

Hawthorn Station where I began my walk at one of Melbourne's nicer stations.

Our older stations are a huge contrast to our newer stations, not that we have many new ones, as our system does not expand.

Somewhere at the far end of this photo, the Kew branch line left the mainline. It was only a single line but with a siding as the terminus.

And it went right through this tennis court and heat affected garden.

Really not much in the way of remaining train infrastructure to see. There are some rather grand houses in Hawthorn.

This linear car park is where the linear (snort) train line ran.

It went right past Glenferrie Oval, home of the Hawthorn Football Club, except in our commercial maximising the buck times, it is now called Ausdoc Oval. Extraordinary! It won't catch on.

A linear park, where the train following its linear railway line travelled.

But once reaching Hawthorn Grove, this pretty ordinary place blocked the train linear parkland.

Quite hidden, but this is a very nice place next to the building above.

There you go. On the site of a redevelopment of the Barker Station site is lots of crushed bluestone, always a good clue to a train.

It was a closed construction site, so I had to walk along Hawthorn Grove. There were some nice houses.

Behind the fence, ran the train to Kew. I was walking in the rising heat along the hideous Princess Street, which was so overwhelmed with car traffic.

In a superb and delicious irony, Vic Roads, our state government organisation responsible for our major roads, has a huge mega complex of office towers sited exactly where Kew Railway Station was. I could not believe how big the site was. How many office people does Vic Roads have? I believe this driveway is pretty well the alignment of the railway line.

The trams in the area are pretty busy. I bet if the train line was still there, it would be very busy too.