maggieasingleton's Blog

Sending out Love and Hope and Peace on this day and all the days to come.

23 April 2016
Keep it simple. Simple food. Simple life. Don’t over complicate Your life. Let it be.

Look at the mulberry tree that has outlived you by 300 years and wonder at the simplicity of its existence that allows it to grow new shoots every year, whilst propped up with a post and looking like a knarled old man leaning on his stick. And all that is required by this icon of longevity is the soil that the earth provides, the rain and the sun. Look at the bark tracIng tIme so beautifully decorated with the cracks and scars and mossy growth of the years. Look at the stone embedded in the trunk. A chaffinch on its bough.

Take time to be still in the world. Like the tree. Bend with the storm. Reach for the sun.
Keep it simple. Nourish your Mind and your body. Exercise your mind and your body. Keep it simple. Keep it simple.

The whitewashed wall outside the window glows pink in the early sun

Sparrows. We wondered where they had all gone from our English gardens.

They are all here. Declaring the lightening of the day with their banter. Demanding attention.

The church bell tolls seven times.

The cockerel crows harshly to his hens. The hens reply softly. They are about their scritchy scratchy business.

The clocks in the house tick tock. All tell a different time and sing a different song

Later the pilot will give us his unseen aerobatic display somewhere over the hill in the sky blue blue sky.

The black weeded women will shout their conversation through their windows and in their yards. Insistent. Serious. No laughter. What do they say?

The brown and grey men will sit in earnest nodding discourse over coffee and cigarettes at the tables outside cafes and tavernas. They stare as we try to catch their words as we pass. What do they say?

A new sound in this ancient land. Of solitary voices, shouting earnestly into mobile phones. Unseen listeners.

The sounds of domestic industry, and now a pigeon coos gently for its mate. Where are you. Where are you. And then a tractor tearing down the narrow lane. Raw sound interrupting the gentle domestic hum. A two wheeled motorcycle roars by. No helmet safety here. One hand on the handlebars, one clutching phone or frappé, shouting greetings. Always greetings. Through car windows. No care for traffic or schedule. Chatter chatter. What are they saying?

The sea sings a quiet song as the small tide holds it tight at the shore. Short verses fit snug around the small waves. Sand, from fine yellow white, through course flat autumn hued grains to pebbles rendered smooth by the relentless wash of wavelets and drilled by brother stones to make lucky Suffolk ‘wilkies’. These form the orchestra to play the song of the waves. Lullaby sounds. No crashing cymbals here. Brush on timpani. The ocean is a distant cousin to this almost landlocked sea. The moon stroking the water on a tide that reveals only a ribbon-strand of freshly washed shore. Brush on timpani. Muffled by the weed from sea and the leaves from the shore. A blanket carelessly dropped here and there to cloak the cool sand and stones beneath.

The clock bell calls once again. Relentless. Time passing in small segments reminding us that this day will pass into tomorrow and is not forever. We are not forever.  The cockerel less instant now. More distant. Satisfied his hens are all accounted for. So far.

On Friday and Sunday when the bells play a calling tune, a come to church tune, a dog howls in sympathy. Does he want to go or does he want the congregation to stay?

In the groves the cicadas sing to their olives. Grow green and fat and shiny. Grow purple and black and round. Shine sun, shine. In the heat of the afternoon they crescendo as all else falls silent. Until the white fluff of cloud gains height and colour and uses round hammered drum-rolls on the timpani to herald warm thirst quenching rain for the trees.

Four cats always waiting for our return. Feed me calls. Plaintive mews. Outside the door all the way to their den of beds and food. Spiky wet and dusty dry. Hungry for company and full bellies.

We four women making plans, making work, making chitter chatter laughter as we go about this old renewed house. Kitchen chatter, cleaning chatter. Gossip and opinion and advice. Rich archives delved. New material examined and stored away in ever overcrowded libraries. Four women. Four voices.

Again the clock chimes it’s time. For tea. For rousing women and cats. For plans and tasks and new sights and sounds. The song of the Greek day has begun.

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This is the story of our trip to Messinia to stay with Jan in Xarakopio. Ann Su and Maggie. I am for once not posting in chronological order as inspiration and availability of my Asus Pad have determined the randomness of the blogging. But here we go. An adventure of a different nature for me as I have not before experienced mainland Greece. I know so little of the history and the geography of the place so please forgive any misunderstandings or misinterpretations.  As ever the observations are mine. We may start in the middle, but I will return to the beginning in due course. Enjoy. I do.

4 Women. Ready by 10 for the 10 to 10.30 start. Unheard of. Great smoothie today. Carrot, cucumber, apple, banana, peach and ginger. I know dear readers that you don’t need to know this but it is just SO good it needs to be written down. I promise I won’t mention smoothies again.

So bye bye cats and house and off to the Filoxenia Spa Hotel at Kalamata. There were, inevitably, jobs to do en route, the first of which was to dispose of the euphemistic “poo bag”. (I should explain that there is a RULE that no paper may be disposed of down the toilet as the Greek sewage system cannot deal with it, so all paper items must be placed in a well lined bin and disposed of daily, and since it is our bin and our paper we must be responsible for said disposal. Su seems to be the main ” Carrier of the bag” shouting “bin” or “poo bag” in time for the car to stop and the bag to be hurled inside.) Sorry – jobs – to get the tyre pressures checked (which we did not), to get petrol (which we did) and to get to Kalamata in one piece. (Which we did – obviously). We also agreed to stop outside Kalamata to buy lunch for later at a patisserie called Athanasiou. This most revered establishment sells the classiest selection of cakes, pastries, rolls, sandwiches, cookies, biscuits sweets etc that I have so far encountered in Greece. It could be compared to the patisserie in Fortnum’s transported to a hot dusty service station in Greece. An error was narrowly avoided when we realised that Ann’s order for 2 baklava had resulted in the preparation of two entire trays of this delicious stuff being prepared for departure, and not 2 slices as required.  Mind you we could have dispatched it. Given time!

Jan knew where she was going. Just as well. On the subject of RULES, it seems to me there are very few on the Greek roads. Junctions are a mystery. Faded road markings and no “after you”  “no, no, after you” nonsense, makes the entire experience rather stressful to the outsider, and whilst there are speed limit signs now and then, they appear to be generally disregarded. As Jan rightly pointed out, driving through towns and villages needs to be undertaken with great care to avoid running over livestock and humans, not to mention negotiating crazy hairpin bends with large abandoned holes where road works have been started but are as yet unfinished. In Xarakopio the mysterious water works are underway and there is a hole outside every property. Neat square hole with an exposed water pipe in it. Mystery. And no red and white tape. Elf and Safety notwithstanding! I’m usually a good back seat \ front seat driver, but I am nervous in Greece. Probably because I don’t know the RULES!!

I digress. Jan had business in the city so we girls were let loose for a couple of hours. Not to be trusted unfortunately!

But, we navigated to the recommended coffee shop, successfully ordered our refreshment, logged into the free WiFi (always cause for celebration) and enjoyed ourselves in the shade of the old Bizantine church (11 – 12 C).  The church was dark and peaceful. We lit candles and offered prayers to our chosen creators.

There were two adjacent sandal\shoe shops nearby. Deserving of a look. We were harangued by a rather tipsy but friendly local man who appeared to be encouraging us to buy local. He did a passable impression of a cow to indicate the authenticity of the leather, and found many words of German, French, Italian and English to decorate his slurred Greek. The storekeeper shooed (no pun intended) him apologetically away. We lingered over the sandals. Mistake. I was seduced into the shop to look at the tricolour strappy sandals, asking for a size 43. But these were clearly women’s sandals and women, as we know, don’t have big feet. A 42 was produced and the desperate store keeper forced my pale sweaty size 9 into the narrow size 8. My toes hung over the top. Perfecto!

“Nein” I said, “Ne” forgetting that I was English and not German (why is it that we break into any other language that we have even scant knowledge of when English seems not to work?) And forgetting that “Ne” is “Yes” in Greek!  He bustled off to another pair. “How do you say ‘no thank you'” I asked Ann. She told me and I immediately forgot. He returned with a different 42. Again much stuffing of hot foot into too small sandal. “How do I say ‘no thank you’ Ann?” She told me again and again I immediately forgot. Su helpfully contributed with “just leave”. Most helpful. He had just returned with a huge brown men’s sandal for me to try. We just left. Cracked up in the street. Can you imaging his conversation with his wife over supper. ” these three crazy English women. One with huge feet. Like a man. Pale. Sweaty. Horrible! Wanted sandals. Ha! ”

My brain won’t remember word. I can do a plausible mimic of the accent required but the words won’t stick. I can break into a Welsh accent as soon as we hit the Severn Bridge but as for the language. Not a chance. Same here. On dear!

There are so many cats. Ornamental cats, painted cats. Sculpted cats. Even ‘Banksy’  style graffiti cats on the buildings in the city. Cats.

In a country with an apparent feral cat problem, the cats are almost revered in art. Why is that? The hippy shop remembered by Su had loads of cats and lovely things for we hippy tourists.

We made it to the appointed meeting place in the square by the fountain in good time. Via the Cheese pie shop. And Jan found us. We were immediately approached by an old lady begging for money. She was very insistent. She carried a tatty card which she showed to each of us in turn and seemed to think it would authenticate her pleading and enhance our generosity. Ann succumbed with a euro but this just encouraged her to renew her plea and push her face further into ours. She pointed into her toothless mouth and mimed a throttling action as though we would be personally responsible for her demise. We encountered her again later. Still just as determined. I do feel a terrible urge to give to these refugees but if they are here “without recourse to public funds” as they would be here, supporting them under the wire, do we then encourage more people to come via the dodgy routes we read about and end up on the streets of European cities being blamed for messing up the economy and stealing jobs from the legitimate locals. Please discuss. Yet again.

Final job before the Spa was a visit to Jumbo where we needed a large cafetière. Obviously. They had none, but we left with a sofa cover, two scary eye bracelets, some olive soap, some latte cups and some batteries. You may well wonder why we needed these items for our night at the Spa……

So onto the Hotel!!! Under cover (bamboo roofed) parking, palatial colonnaded entrance, all marble and palms. Ann had a posh wheelie case but the remainder of us looked like bag ladies.  Hot sticky bag ladies.

By way of an aside on the RULES, I meant to mention the pedestrian crossings. They’re not. They’re just stripes on the road. Pedestrians beware because cars are not programmed to stop. More likely to stop for a tortoise. Reminded me about the pelican crossing in Western Australia. Another story. And red lights. Well not necessarily to stop at apparently. Sometimes the red and yellow flash together. What does that mean. Anyway…..

Back to the Hotel. We are escorted to the lift by a lovely young Greek lad, possibly Georgio as nearly all the men are.  “What floor are we on?” ” Floor 2″ ” I can’t see the buttons. Where’s the 2?” ” Next to the 1″ For some reason this was hilarious and continued to be so every time we used the lift. Especially on the one occasion when I cane down the stairs instead and the girls were stuck on floor 2 because they kept pressing the 2. I think I was blamed. Ha!

Georgi  must have raced up the stairs 4 at a time to reach our rooms before we did. He showed us which way up to put our key cards to open the door and make the lights work (yes I know) and explained far too quickly the air conditioning controls.  Far too quickly. We set the temperature to the lowest at 16°. That’s what I have my central heating set to in the winter!

Jan may need a blanket at this rate. (Indeed she did request a blanket at reception later and this too arrived at the room before she did).

The rooms were lovely. Marble floors, bath robes, baths (Su extremely happy.) The balconies overlook the garden and pool. Beautiful.

We are disappointed to hear that the Spa is not open tomorrow. So I hastily booked a massage and Su a Sauna. We also learned that the Spa pool and jacuzzi aren’t heated. Not very inviting. We gathered at the main pool instead. It was lovely.

Continue reading →

Up early. Too early. Packed, Repacked, Wiped. Tidied.
We have food to eat up. Bananas, apples, pears, goats cheese, avo, pea shoots – you get the picture. Interesting brekkie plate. I pack a picnic bag for the long wait at the airport. I just hate wasting food. I cram the coffee, cereal and tea bags into my over-full bag.
Owen helps by finishing the goats cheese.
We have an hour before we have to leave. I may have already explained that I don’t do waiting. So since I am already pacing I go for a walk round the block, past Poppy Coffee where I grab the now familiar de-caff soy cap and wander home to drink it and load the car.
So goodbye Cobblers Cottage.
The car has to be back at the airport by 11 and we have yet to refuel at the garage nearest the “rental return”. We park where instructed and look for a “Thrifty” person. We find an “Avis” person who tells us to go into the terminal to the desk.
“Just pop the keys in there” says the Thrifty person. Don’t you want to know where we have parked? Do you not need to check it over for dents? Nono. Just pop the keys in there. So why did I have a nervous breakdown in case we were 5 minutes late and had to pay for an extra day? Why did I unpack my bag looking for a pen to write down the number of the bay where we had abandoned the car? I have no idea.

Now a long wait. We are encumbered by bags. At least 2 hours before we can check in. Coffee. Sit outside in the sunshine among the smokers (in fact I sat on a nearby wall and got ants in my pants). Explore the terminal (a newsagent and a coffee shop) At last post Hannah’s birthday card to Queensland.Wait.

At last we check in. V quick. Through security. This is the bit I hate. Through the scanner machine.  Do they really think I have something concealed? Take your hankie out of your pocket m’am.

And breathe.

Through into departures. Lunch in the foodie bit. We look round duty free seperately so we don’t have to lug the bags.  Whilst on the phone to Alice she and I choose nail varnish. Three for $25 or something. Alice confirms the bargain. I buy perfume. Lovely. Owen comes back with sweeties!

We look together at Ipads. I need something bigger than this for writing. And then a first. My name is called over the tannoy. Would Margaret Singleton please report to gate two. Me! It’s me! Owen laughs. I go to gate two. Margaret Singleton? ‘Tada!” I reply inappropriately. I just wanted to confirm that we have managed to load you a vegetarian dish. Oh goodie. Deflated I return to Owen. Finally we board. Same seats as before. Leg room, no storage. 5 1/2 hour first flight. We get away by about 4.30. I’ve been up 10 hours! Food was dire. I get a vegan dinner in fact.

The flight is not full. There is a very young baby. Mum on her own.  Not enough hands. Trying to shield herself as she nurses.  The flight cot is attached to the wall but baby won’t settle. Because she is in roomy seats some idiot tries to push through the row to get to the loo. Jogs the cot.  Wakes the baby. In fairness the baby is little and does eventually sleep most of the flight.  More than can be said for me!

Again we have screens that pop up out of the arm rest. mine has a very very loud squeak as it moves. It may have been responsible for keeping the baby awake. One has a choice of touch screen or remote control. Touching the screen, even gently, makes the entire thing collapse – with a very loud squeak! This happens a number of times.  At first it is funny, but the repetitive hammering my shin gets as the screen dives forward makes it less funny (for me) and more funny (for Owen) as we progress.

Since I am writing retrospectively, the movies I watched on the flights have somewhat merged.  I remember MIdnight in Paris, Fading Gigolo, Great Gatsby (the last 10 minutes of which I had to watch with no sound and Chinese sub-titles as the headphones had been collected)

We arrive KL and disembark. I have now been up since 6.30am and it is 10.30 pm in some timezone or other. I have been up 16 hours and it’s bedtime. I have a coffee.

KL airport is otherworldly.  Built like a giant wheel, the glass-domed centre – the size of a sports stadium and the height of  a cathedral – is an equatorial forest complete with birds and butterflies.  We didn’t have time to explore but what a wonderful thing…. Around the dome circles a two storey tube with retail outlets on either side at both levels, including services and food outlets. Bluewater.  Then from the tube run huge domed tunnels leading to the various terminals – four or five tubes. The floors sparkle and the lights are like stars.  We have limited time.  There is a Desigual.  I almost succumb. But don’t.

Time to board again.  More security. I have bought us water and juice – since we have not left flight-side – but we can’t take them through. We drink as much as we can and abandon them.

Same aircraft as London to KL.  Huge two storey monster. In the third leg-room seat is a Malaysian man.  He is tall, for a Malaysian (which reminds me – the loos. One has a choice of a hole in the ground or a “western” loo.  I didn’t realise until I had encountered the hole in the ground wearing my very heavy rucksack – the girls will know the difficulties – but the “western”  loos are SO short, low, near to the ground, so as to make them impossible to rise from if one is 6ft tall.  (I remember Ray telling us that toilet bowls are always too short because they are made in Asia.  This it seems is true! In Asia they are even shorter.  They must assume that by making the export version slightly taller they are catering for people like me.  They are not!)

Back to my neighbour. I’m sure he is very nice but he sniffs and snorts the whole time he is awake.  Should I offer him a lightly fragranced tissue.  I think best not.  I tighten the headphones.  The flight is 12 1/2 hours.  It would arrive in London at 11.50 am Perth time.  I have been up by then for 29 hours.  I do get the odd nap, but a slightly jippy airport tummy prevents long sleep and in any event I can’t sleep properly sitting up with an old dancing hip injury. Time is a strange thing.  It passes.  One knows it will pass, but sitting in the dark, head throbbing lightly, dreading the next long walk back to the loo, it appears to stop.

But we do arrive and I ma here to tell the tale.  We encounter the e-passport facility.  Easy Peasy says Owen.  I have to take my specs off since I was required to for my passport photo.  So I can’t read the instructions.  The helpful immigration officer shouts instructions from the other side.  “Stand in the footprints”  What footprints – oh yes. “Slide your passport photo side down into the slot” What slot – oh yes. “No madam, the other way round. Turn your passport the other way round.  No, not the other way up, the other way round” OK.  “Now look at the screen” What screen – oh yes. Ping.  “It says you can go now” Does it.  Owen waits patiently.  “See” he says “Easy Peasy!”

We part company, he for the Heathrow Express, me for the National Expess bus stand.  I have an hour to wait.  Costa beckons and I spend a pleasant time with coffee and a lovely Melbourne student who is waiting for the bus to Brighton. She has British Dutch and Australian passports.  But is apparently doesn’t make it easier to travel. She concludes that it makes immigration suspicious. She is to complete her overseas semester from Melbourne Uni in Bristol, but is spending the summer in Brighton first.

Bus on time.  I read the free paper I was given with my water in WH Smith, and fail to sleep.  Something resembling a monsoon is occuring in the UK.  Avoiding two potential hold-ups caused by very recent accidents that have not yet been “recovered”, and thrashing through the rain, we arrive in Ipswich 3 1/4 hours later, on time and I’m collected by my brother, delivered to my sister (and my car) collect shopping and grumpy cats, and finally get home. I have now been up for 35 hours.  I stay away for a further 6 hours, somehow, and then collapse into bed for blissful sleep.  I manage 8 hours uninterrupted.  It is 4am. But is is light and feels like morning so on we go.

It was a very long way round.

Reflections of Australia. I’ve said it all already  What a joy to be able to go, to spend time with my beautiful Alice who I miss more than I can say, and with my lovely Owen. To see them together. For us all to be together, to laugh and wonder and just chill.  I am a very fortunate girl.

(Red) Wine and flat (white) that is.

I have walked in Fremantle today. Down with Owen early in the sun. Our first Australian Macaroon. Salted Caramel for me. Cookies and cream for Oz.

Very almondy and chewy. Delish.

Wandering round the shops on Monday is a different experience to the bustle of the weekend. Many shops closed. Few people about.

We decide to see a film this afternoon . Rise of the Planet of the Apes – 2nd prequel. I haven’t seen any of them. Will it make sense?

Owen returns to Cobblers Cottage to read. I can’t be in on such a day. So through to the harbour and out along one long sea wall I go. One of two small lighthouses stands on the end of the harbour wall. It is green and white. It’s twin stands on the other side if the Swan river mouth – the North side – and is red and white. It appears toy like in the distance.

When Fremantle was first a port – in the 1600s – the harbour was here in the South. Ships were able only to drop anchor off shore and ferry goods and people in on barges which were of sufficiently shallow draft to dock on the long jetty which is long gone.

I try to imagine it. A replica of the very first ship to sail here, the Duyfken, is docked behind Little Creatures where I now sit with my red and white.

Now this early harbour has become a marina and dock for small vessels. Food establishments of all shapes and sizes flank the harbour. Seafood predominates as expected. The commercial docks are further up stream, accessed along the estuary flanked by the twin lighthouses.

I sit outside in the hot sun. Other parts of Australia are experiencing frost and extremely cold wet weather. Rare for this country, but extremes are what Australia is about. Here it must be 25°. Slight breeze. Gulls wheeling. Crying. Stealing. Reminds me of Rye. Music is better though. Jazz FM. Reminds me of Helen. Hi Helen x.

A stroll through town after the red and white took me into the blue buddah. Blue for lapis (a lovely bracelet) and a full 45 mins talking to the girls in there.

Followed by a green smoothie except it was juice and for a juice called green garden it was really rather orange. Tasted good though. I’m in need of green.

Now this may not sound much of a deal but I managed to text Owen on his smart phone using my tiddly Australian mobile.

AND he replied immediately. Those of you with sons will know.

Its so hot I’m in the shade in the park. One has to choose carefully. The birds take no prisoners when it comes to targets and every bench is under a bird filled pine!

So I’m off to the cinema. Will report later. Ha.

Well what an emotional rollercoaster! Bonkers of course. But I am sucked right in and when it ends I want to know what happen next!

We emerge into a mild evening with sky pale peach and blue in the sunset. Supper is at Little Creatures again. Good food. Lovely view of the harbour in the deepening dark, lights twinkling. Last night.

After opening his 3 cards (actually quite good considering where we are) Owen and I set off North today, out of the city and eventually joining Indian Ocean Drive. The bush stretches away either side of us giving occasional glimpses of the blue blue ocean, sand dunes gleaming in the strong sunshine. The bush is a thousand shades of green with an overlay of yellow from the flowers that herald spring here. Really hard to capture in a photo.  The road is quiet and follows the coast. Not the usual dead straight freeway. Lancelin is our first stop for refreshment and a quick look at the beach. On again – our journey is 250k today – to the Nambung National Park. The sand dunes rise out if the bush on the landward side of the drive looking in the distance like cloud formations against the blue sky. There are yellow diamond shaped signs warning us to beware of wildlife on the road – black cameo outlines of kangaroo, emu and maybe echidna or porcupine. We don’t see any of course but it is hot and the middle of the day. Most self respecting wildlife is dozing in the shade. We finally arrive at the Pinnacles Desert. It is amazing. Calcerous pinnacles stretch up out of the sand. Hundres of them. Small, tall, all shapes. Research is inconclusive. I’m with the stalagmite theory but the science is not exact. There is a humming sound we can hear when the car is quiet. I spot a dragon fly but not the source of the humming. Next time we stop it is gone. This was and is a magical place. We should tread carefully. Respect the ancient ways  of the people and the place.

After a very informative visit to the interpretive centre we drive away to Cevantes for refreshment and to reflect on what we’ve seen. Definitely worth the long drive. We sit in the hot sun before setting off back along the Indian Ocean Drive. Birthday dinner follows our return with more reflection on a lovely day.

A whole week has passed since Alice arrived with Owen. I knew it would fly. And it has whizzed by. Alice flew back to Sydney this afternoon. Sad sad but so glad to have had this lovely funny happy week. And I shall see her in December which makes it bearable. And that Owen and I are still here in Freo with a couple of days to still enjoy.

We had a wonderful brekkie out this morning followed by a wander round the market and a few purchases. The conversations were hilarious and mostly not repeatable but it was a really lovely morning. We returned home to finalise the packing and having arrived with overweight luggage, now made weightier with the addition of a bottle or two, Al invested in an online luggage allowance! Better than paying double at check in. It took just half an hour from Freo to the airport (even though we had to guess which was the domestic terminal – having lost concentration on the way in) and all too soon she was in and gone.

I have redeemed myself in the kitchen and cooked a good night before birthday dinner for my boy. And the cab sav is beautiful. As ever.

We’ll see what tomorrow yields. No pics today except coffee. Lovely Aussie coffee. Xx

We leave our lovely little retreat this morning to catch the train to Perth. I appear to be last up. The bed is so comfortable and cosy I just can’t get up. It’s sharply sunny – I really struggle to see when the sun is so bright and low even with sunglasses and hat. So I am a bit slow and we sort of string out along the path. Owen in front. Alice trying to keep me and Owen in touch as I bring up the rear.

The train is efficient. It turns out that Alice’s NSW student status doesn’t count in WA but the ticket inspector lets her off as does the gate keeper. We won’t risk it coming back and buy a standard ticket which of course isn’t glanced at.

Having failed to buy jeans we walk down to the river where I was a week ago. Lovely to be here again with the kids.

There are no real plans for museums or gallaries so we wander over to Northbridge (supposed to be the edgy happening part of the city) and eat lunch at Govindas. It’s the same format as others we have sampled in London and Sydney. A proper Buddhist environment and a great lunch for $10 a head. I leave the young ones so I can visit the museum at His Majesty’s Theatre in Hay Street. There’s an exhibition of sheet music, posters, photographs, costumes and contemporaneous accounts of the songs of World War I. Some recordings of the time are playing. It all starts with a great patriotic call to arms to defend the ‘motherland’, and the music reflects loss and the lives of the families left behind as one would expect. What is surprising is the pressure building, through the music, on those men who have not enlisted. Conscription was later in Australia and the popular music of the day pulled no punches when it came to attitudes towards shirkers. White feathers were commonplace. The groups of musicians who toured Australia made a good living and carried on doing so well after peace was declared – to the disapproval of some.

A very helpful and informed volunteer with Cornish connections makes my visit extremely interesting. I scuttle off into the sunshine like an emerging beetle from my dark lair to find Owen & Alice who have seen enough of Perth. We head back to Freo on the train. Owen choses to come home. Alice and I go off in search of a nail shop. Not the metal sort. The painted sort.

We find one. There are 6 ‘massage’ chairs (the chairs vibrate) with footbaths for pedicures and about 10 work stations for hands! The staff are all young possibly chinese lasses and lads. I get a lad! Alice gets at least three lasses including the boss lady to see to hands and feet. I have to say the end result is great but the hand and forearm massage was like a visit to the osteopath and if Alice’s feet had been filed any harder she would have bled.

Al of course had trainers and socks. No no. Not after 3 coats of varnish. She is wearing a pair of borrowed flipflops, pink, three sizes too small. Clearly she can’t wear them home. They offer a pair of bright canary yellow PAPER flipflops to go home in. Yeah right. We have a 15 minute walk. So Al flips into Coles for a $2 pair of clearance attractive black flipflops which she manages until we are halfway home by which time the varnish is dry and she has the beginnings of a blister.

We decide on a drink in the market bar. Most of the stalls were still open. A group of boys are gathered near us – piled dreadlocks, a bandana, long blond hair worn with a full blond beard.  Quite a gathering. The piled dreadlocks fascinate me. The style lookes a little like Alice’s vegemite scroll from earlier in the week.  Actually it looks rather like a marmite pretzel. I am about to take a picture. Alice stops me, horrified. You can’t do that Mother! Shame. I would’ve asked him.

We trundle home mellowed by wine and beer, purchasing ingredients for a pear, goats cheese and toasted pumpkin salad from the lovely local shop.

The house is chilly tonight. Clear skies and a WA winter. Ah well. Find a jumper. Tomorrow is Alice’s last day. Sad sad.