High Living in Hong Kong

I have written this blog in some pretty strange places and my current location is up there (literally) with the weirdest of them – I am sitting by the swimming pool on the 21st floor of the Harbour Grand Hotel in Kowloon looking out over bustling Hong Kong harbour. This is skyscraper city, a fact emphasised as I look to my left by the next-door skyscraper continuing upwards for a further 51 floors. Mind you, these are pretty much small fry in the quest for height as a short distance from here stands the International Commerce Centre. Since our last visit to Hong Kong the ICC has been completed and now has an incredible 108 floors and, standing at 1558 feet, now ranks as the 4th tallest building in the world.

Leaving Sydney was always going to be tinged with sadness – particularly for Sandra who is going to miss her only grand daughter. Johann drove us to the airport and dropped us off at 7am and promptly left – thus avoiding both a long, drawn-out, tearful farewell and having to pay for parking! Minutes later Steven, Ana, Lex and Anatalia arrived for a final photo call before leaving for a day at the beach and finally we were alone – our yearlong Australian adventure was just about over.

We had arranged the three day stopover in Hong Kong partly to help overcome the jetlagging effect of doing the trip in a oner and partly to have a few days rest and relaxation before hitting the challenges of home. Having already explored Hong Kong as much as I wanted to, my intention was to curl up with a book and a bottle of wine and do nothing – this however did not fit with Sandra’s plans. On one of her expeditions in Sydney she had come across a small book called “The Markets of Hong Kong” with details of what they sold and how to get to them – obviously a challenge not to be missed!

As our Cathay Pacific flight was about to land the Captain, giving us our destination weather details, touched upon one of the major problems emerging from China’s economic boom – pollution. If the wind is in the wrong direction, as it was for us, Hong Kong is blanketed with a smoggy gloom through which the sun has difficulty penetrating and during our three day stay in never really fully cleared. Despite this, the views from our rooftop eyrie overlooking the harbour were fascinating. The harbour was very busy with all sorts of craft criss-crossing between Kowloon and Hong Kong Island. The bustle initially reminded us of Sydney Harbour and it took a few minutes to spot the main difference – all the harbour traffic was commercial. In Sydney, whilst there is obviously a commercial trade particularly with the fleets of ferries, pleasure craft – from massive motor cruisers and yachts down to sailing dinghies and canoes – made up a substantial and very visible proportion of harbour traffic. In Hong Kong I don’t think we saw a single pleasure craft.

The transfer to the hotel (by private limousine) was luxurious, the hotel location was superb, our room had wonderful views and the food was excellent - what more could we want? Well a bit of spending money wouldn’t go amiss! I have learnt through painful experience that hotels are not the best places to change money. I have also learnt that oriental cities are usually teaming with unofficial moneychangers who will give you a much better deal than the banks – so off we went looking for one of these shady characters.

Within minutes of leaving the hotel we had what I can only describe as a surreal experience. Population density in Hong Kong is incredibly high and the housing complex to the rear of the hotel consisted of 88 skyscraper apartment blocks incorporating huge shopping complexes mainly catering for the local market rather than tourists. As we turned a corner there in front of us, squeezed in between apartment blocks, was a massive ship – the Whampoa – looking as if the captain had taken a wrong turn and come down the street. Still naively thinking this was a real ship (well I was, Sandra said she had sussed it out straight away) we made towards it only to discover it was actually a shopping mall. Like an iceberg the superstructure was only a small part of the complex with escalators taking shoppers down to a vast labyrinth of underground shops – horrendous!

With no luck finding a moneychanger and with the banks now closed for the night, we bit the bullet and headed for an ATM – which immediately refused to take my Scottish bank card (quite rightly as it transpired as it was passed its expiry date) My Australian bank card, despite being valid, was similarly refused. So, risking a serious bout of dishwashing if they didn’t take plastic, we found a Thai restaurant and had a meal and a few drinks – and luckily they accepted my credit card. Giving up for the night we made our way back to the hotel after unsuccessfully trying to buy wine in a corner shop where the female Chinese proprietor steadfastly refused to accept any type of plastic, Australian Dollars or British Pounds.

The following morning, with Sandra’s market expedition looming, money was urgently required. A trip to the local HSBC bank revealed a high commission charge and, even more off-putting massive queues to get served. There was nothing for it, we did what we should have done the day before and changed money in the hotel.

Armed with wads of HK Dollars Sandra set off by herself to explore the Hong Kong public transport system (which is very good) and navigate her way to the various markets. I, having been totally shopped and marketed out, refused to go and took my book and laptop up to the swimming pool on the roof where I spent a very peaceful, relaxing day.

The following day we took the Star Ferry across to Hong Kong Island and wandered the concrete jungle through mazes of raised walkways linking skyscraper to skyscraper until we were completely disorientated. Hong Kong is busily preparing itself for the Chinese New Year and, with this being the Year of the Rabbit, much of the city, particularly the shopping malls, is decorated with enormous rabbits.

Little did I know but Sandra still had her little red book “The Markets in Hong Kong” with her and she tracked down a number of little alleyways incongruously hidden at the foot of skyscrapers and jammed full of stalls selling silks of the orient, cheap clothes, watches and all things plastic. Incongruous, as inside some of these skyscrapers were dozens of expensive designer shops selling high fashion items to the rich.

Another incongruity was in some of the building techniques. In third world countries I have often noticed the use of bamboo scaffolding when building or repairing buildings. Whilst I would not classify Hong Kong as third world I was amazed to see buildings clad in bamboo with workmen scurrying around like ants. And these were not low-rise buildings but skyscrapers with bamboo poles rising hundreds of feet up the side of buildings – see photo.

After a few hours of this concrete purgatory Sandra announced that she was totally phased by cities preferring a more rural, lower density existence – “Let’s get out of here” she said. So it was back to the hotel for a final afternoon of relaxation before tomorrow’s flight back to low density living.

Our Last Full Week - Beaches, Barbeques and the usual Navigation Errors

Our last full week – where has the time gone?

Pearl Beach is funny little village nestling in trees and set back from a sandy beach. There are probably a couple of hundred houses there but it seems much less as most are set back from the road and hidden in the trees. With relatively few permanent residents, many of the houses have been bought by well-to-do Sydneysiders to be used as holiday homes or to provide a rental income. Rod and Di are friends who have a house in Pearl Beach which they are trying to sell but, until it is sold, are happy to rent it out to friends. Well equipped, with two bedrooms, a big gas barbeque, a large deck and plenty of garden space it was an ideal place for us to hole up for a week, with Steven, Ana and the children appearing for a long weekend.

At the end of our year in Australia we have been trying sell, give away or, as a last resort, throw away the kit that has sustained us over the last year. With the tent and solar panel sold, the car on the market, the tables and chairs and going to Johann and Stretch, the beds and mattresses destined for Gill in Darwin (will she be able to arrange the shipping?) the question remained – what to do with the boat? The time in Pearl Beach was the ideal opportunity to convince Steven that what was missing in his life was an inflatable dinghy. Despite his reluctance for acquiring unnecessary goods and chattels, after a session on the beach where Steven, Ana and Lex had a great time in the dingy (leaving Anatalia wit doting grandmother) he agreed to give our “Titanic” a new home.

With several beaches (Pearl, Umina and Patonga) within easy distance of the house we managed to “beach ourselves out” with the only drama being Steven losing skin from his foot and hand, not to mention a bruised rear end, following a scooter accident on the way down for a late afternoon dip in the waves. As per usual Anatalia was the star of the show – dressed to the nines in her pink beach costume and sunnies – hard to believe she is only four months old.

With Johann and Stretch joining us for a few days we had a pleasant time (including possum hunting – see photo) and then, on Sunday when all our the family had headed back to Sydney, Sandra and I were left for a few days for a final bit of rest and relaxation before heading back home. At least that was the theory! As ever things did not take a restful turn and, as usual, I blame Sandra!

Sitting round having a quiet time, reading a book and lazing in the sun having the odd barbeque seemed the ideal plan for a bit of rest and relaxation. Sandra however had other ideas – we were going on a trip on the ferry from Ettalong to Palm Beach where we could walk around the shops and have lunch. After a pleasant enough 30 minute ferry ride we arrived at Palm Beach. Sandra, who had researched the trip (?), announced that the main town was a little way along the coast from the ferry terminal. We spotted a bus going to “The City”, which Sandra authoritatively stated was to Palm Beach City, and we agreed that we would walk into the city and get the bus back to catch the ferry home.

Any reader acquainted with the greater Sydney area will by now have alarm bells ringing in their ears – not least by the fact that there is no such place as Palm Beach City - the City the bus was going to was in fact Sydney! After several miles looking for a non-existent city Sandra agreed that she might have made a mistake and No! She hadn’t brought the map with her!

However after remembering that we were on a peninsula, when we came to a sign pointing inland and indicating Whale Beach, she reckoned that if we cut over the mountain we would hit the sea again and pick up our bearings – and anyway, Whale Beach sounded nice. So, under a blazing sun and with nothing to drink, we set off up hill and eventually hit the coast. Bumping into a friendly lifeguard we were informed that we were nowhere near Palm Beach and to get back to the ferry terminal we would either have to drive back the way we had come or round the northern side of the peninsula. Our announcement that we didn’t have a car and that we were walking was greeted with a look of incredulity. There was no option but to tough it out and keep on walking and several hours later, with my legs aching, Sandra’s hips creaking and both with a dose of sunburn we eventually arrived at Palm Beach. If we had turned left when getting off the ferry instead of right we would have saved a lot of shoe leather.

We had an excellent late lunch at a seafront restaurant called “The Boathouse” and walked back along the beach towards the ferry terminal – on the way spotting the unusual sight of a dog on a sailboard with his mistress (Lolly eat your heart out!)

After weeks of relatively little exercise, the next day I could hardly walk as my muscles had seized up and my face was bright red and peeling.

Then back to Sydney for a round of farewells, dinners, barbeques etc as the final countdown to our return to the cold and the snow began.

Floods, Farewells and Grandma Bonding

Throughout the last year I have written long and frequently about the impact the weather has had upon our trip round Australia – particularly the rain. We have occasionally felt that the rain gods were being particularly cruel as we were relentlessly sought out regardless of the route we took. However, if truth be told, the rain we encountered was, in most cases, little more than an inconvenience and my approach, especially in the blog, has been mainly tongue in cheek. However things in Australia, and Queensland in particular, have taken a serious turn for the worse as unrelenting rain in the north has led to extensive flooding with loss of life and scores of people missing. Many of the places Sandra and I visited on our trip are now under water and worse is expected.

It is difficult, when viewed from Scotland, to actually comprehend the sheer scale of the disaster - the area of Queensland currently under water is larger than the combined landmass of France and Germany. Following flooding in 1974 when the state capital Brisbane was badly damaged, a large dam was built to the west of the city intended to prevent any repetition of that disaster. The dam, which is considered operationally full at 1200 billion litres is now holding 2100 billion litres i.e. 90% over normal maximum capacity. To relieve pressure on the dam and make space for the additional inflow from the swollen rivers upstream, the authorities are having to release 500 billion litres a day into the already overflowing Brisbane River – thus adding to the already serious flooding problem.

Even to the south there have been problems with flooding as experienced by Johann and Stretch when they pitched their tent at a place called Huskisson for a few days. The campsite was underwater and Johann said it was like sleeping on a water bed - they did get slightly damp, as can be assumed from the photograph!

On a slightly pleasanter note Sandra and I spent last weekend in Toronto on the shores of Lake McQuarrie saying goodbye to my second cousin Cath, her husband Alan and various other relatives and friends – it was exhausting!

People were invited to pop in throughout the day to meet, or say goodbye, to Sandra and I whilst being fed royally by one of Cath’s famous running buffets. The first people arrived at 10.30 and there was a constant stream of visitors throughout the rest of the day. I was particularly pleased to see my cousin (probably several times removed) Paul from Brisbane who did such a good job on the electrics of the Nissan and lent us his inverter (for charging phones, computers, cameras etc) which was invaluable on our trip. I was wondering how to get it back to him when, out of the blue, he turned up.

Cath is very involved in our Douglas family history and I left with several envelopes stuffed with family trees, photographs, letters, books and other papers which will no doubt keep me busy when I get home. The photograph shows Sandra and I with Cath and Alan to the front, Linda (Cath and Alan’s daughter) standing in the middle next to Paul (who looks uncannily like my father)

Our way back to Sydney took us through the Hunter Valley (wine country) and down a long, winding road known as the Putty Road – recommended by Paul from his motorcycling days. This was nice country and we half thought of spending the night in a hotel but instead made straight for Sydney where Sandra had arranged to have a day out with Steven’s adopted son Lex – a grandma bonding session.

The front of the Sydney Opera House was the setting for an inflatable plastic construction which, once shoes were off and entrance made, developed into a multi-coloured light experience. This was followed by the highlight of the day – a trip to the Sydney Aquarium. Like all small boys Lex has a fascination for sharks of which the aquarium has an abundance. I missed out on these cultural experiences as I was honing my carpentry skills making shelves for Steven and Ana.

For our last week we have rented a house from friends at a place called Pearl Beach for hopefully a relaxing end to our year. We will be joined for a few days by Steven and Co and Johann and Stretch will be putting in an appearance.

A Smashing New Year - then on to The Sales

Love it or loathe it, the one thing that sets a Scotsman apart from the common man, especially in foreign climes, is the Kilt. This is especially the case when worn at Hogmanay. I must admit that my Douglas tartan kilt has not seen a lot of service during its circumnavigation of Australia having spent most of its time on the roof rack keeping the beach tent company, but on New Years Eve Johann persuaded me to wear it when we went to watch the fireworks over Sydney Harbour.

In Edinburgh the fireworks are concentrated on the city centre particularly over the Castle, Princes Street Gardens and the surrounding streets, this being the venue for an enormous Hogmanay party. Sydney on the other hand has a population of around four million and the central part of the city around the harbour is many times the size of Edinburgh, therefore the pyrotechnic displays are probably less concentrated than in Edinburgh with several places used for launching and multiple sites designated for viewing. There are also two fireworks displays – one at 9pm and another at midnight to bring in the New Year. Needless to say, as canny Scots, we attended both!

A few minutes walk from Johann and Stretch’s house is a small park with magnificent views across the water towards the Sydney Harbour Bridge, which naturally enough was one of the key firework launch sites. We had a little inside knowledge of the event as Bill, a Kiwi friend of Stretch with a healthy interest in blowing things up, was one of the firework team. Our group, including Steven and Co plus Gill (Sandra’s younger sister from Darwin) went to join the one million plus crowd for the midnight show and were amazed to find the only bench in the park being vacated as we arrived – so we quickly nabbed it. I was then despatched back to the house to pick up a couple of picnic chairs to give everyone a seated ringside view – it was then that the “kilt effect” came into play.

My route back to the house took me past the Bald Rock Hotel – a local pub with a live band (playing some very good Blues) packed to the doors with New Year revellers and with a huge overspill of drinkers in the street. With the usual cries “Hey yoo Jimmy – Ha’ a Guid Hugmany” - in the most excruciatingly phoney Scottish accents, I was soon involved in debates as to the relative merits Celtic and Rangers, the effectiveness of the new Scottish Parliament and, of course, what do Scotsmen wear under their kilts?

Dragging myself away, I managed to pick up the chairs and was making my way back to the park when another group noticed the kilt. This time the accents seemed more authentic and it turned out that they were Scottish – not only that, they came from Penicuik, ten miles away from us in Eskbank! Gary and Kevin were now resident in Australia with Gary’s parents visiting from Penicuik.


Suddenly we were disturbed by a loud crash and for a moment we thought that the fireworks had started early but no – it was a drunk who had decided to prematurely bring in the New Year by smashing windows. With cries of “Hey, ye cannae dae that!” and “That’s nae oan!” my new friends Gary and Kevin went off in pursuit of the window smasher with Gary’s mother left behind wailing “Och Gary, dinnae get involved son”. As the householder emerged to see who her early first foot was, I went across to look at the damage whilst the two vigilantes came back empty handed.

Then on to the fireworks.

With the Harbour Bridge and the skyscrapers of the central business district forming an impressive backdrop, the firework displays were dramatic and the photos I took did not do justice to the scene. At midnight the four girls – Johann, Sandra, Gill and Ana – got a good view of the proceedings by jumping up onto our park bench with a bottle of pink champagne to bring in the New Year. The fifth girl of the party, young Anatalia, missed out on her first New Year by sleeping through proceedings.

On the way home I took Sandra and Gill to have a “stickybeak” at the broken window only to be slightly embarrassed to find the woman peering out of her house at us from a distance of two feet. She probably thought we were the phantom window smasher back for seconds.

Back at the house the tent got its final airing as it had been erected in the garden for Steven, Ana, Lex and Anatalia to spend the night. I had put the tent on E-bay and had received many offers for it but eventually sold it to Johann’s new next-door neighbours. Whilst it was good to get it sold and out of the house, it was however a bit of a wrench as it had been our home for the best part of a year and it really brought it home to us that this Australian adventure was coming to an end.

On the First we had a quiet-ish day and in the afternoon “Firework Bill” came around absolutely exhausted as he had been working at the fireworks until 4.30am but was delighted with the outcome. Before setting off for home Talia posed for a photo shoot putting on her sunglasses and a Marilyn Monroe pout for the camera – they start early these days!

Then followed a manic two days of shopping. Gill - down from “the sticks” and with money to spend, Sandra – who never needs an excuse to shop, and Johann hit the sales, markets and “Op Shops” (charity shops) looking for bargains. Johann showed a remarkable lack of shopping stamina but the other two, with the predatory nature of a couple of hungry sharks running amok in a shoal of fish, showed greater fortitude and spent a fortune. I initially supported them on trips to Rozelle Market and Darling Harbour but, as trying to keep control of them was like herding cats, I gave up. The end result – Sandra will have to grow another pair of feet to justify all the “bargain” shoes she now has!

Gill, who was actually very lucky to have got to Sydney at all as she had been visiting her in-laws in Queensland where she had been trapped by the dreadful floods, left to fly back to Darwin on 4th January. The occasion was tinged with sadness as it is likely to be a number of years before the three sisters get together again. They seem happy enough in the final photograph - the tears came later.

However the final parting did not go smoothly as Gill, whose life revolves round highs and lows, couldn’t resist a final crisis. Sandra and I had been trying to off-load camping gear and Gill, whose love for a bargain is only exceeded by her love for something free, was kicking herself because she couldn’t take all the freebies as she was flying and this would put her baggage over the weight limit. However the one thing she wanted (and actually needed) was one of our camp beds which weighed in at a considerable 12 kilograms. By shifting all her heavier items into her hand luggage - “which they never weigh anyway” – she was able to get her checked in luggage just on the 23k limit. We dropped her off at the airport then set off for home through the heavy Sydney traffic.

Twenty minutes later the plaintive phone call came “They won’t let me onto the plane – I’ve got too much luggage”. The hand luggage had after all been weighed and was about double the limit. Hard choices had to be made and the bed lost – so Johann, Sandra and I had to about turn, battle through the traffic again, return to the airport and pick up the bed. Consequently we now still have two very good quality camp beds, each with a king single, self inflating mattress – any takers?

Paranoia? No - it's The Real Thing

Paranoia, according to Johann’s Concise Oxford Dictionary, can be defined as “mental derangement, especially when marked by delusions of persecution”. On our trip round Australia Sandra and I have flirted with paranoia when reflecting on the abnormal weather patterns that have persecuted us on our circumnavigation. No matter where we went the rain gods would seek us out and reward us with yet another downpour – it was little wonder that paranoid thoughts were never far away. However I am happy to reveal that neither of us is suffering from “mental derangement” as events over the last few days have proved beyond a shadow of doubt that it is not paranoia – they really are out to get us!

Yesterday’s blog revealed how, through sheer frustration at being rained on yet again, I sent in a letter to the Sydney Morning Herald and had a good whinge about the appalling weather we have suffered in Australia. Although on a personal level the publishing of my letter has had a cathartic effect, it has also unleashed a storm of protest as Australians have been quick to respond to my whinging and have written to the Sydney Morning Herald requesting that we leave the country forthwith. The general sentiment was perhaps best expressed by someone called Pip (no doubt short for Pipsqueak) Denton from Guildford whose letter in today’s paper I reproduce below.

Under the heading of “Home, James” Pipsqueak said

“On behalf of Australia, I would like to thank James Douglas and his wife for so effectively breaking the drought (Letters, December 28). Now – with all due respect – could they please leave, as some of the rain has gone a little over the top.”

And there you have it – when people start writing to a major national newspaper asking you to leave the country you know you are not suffering from “delusions of persecution” but are experiencing the real thing.

On a more positive note, as this is probably going to be the last blog of 2010, Sandra and I would like to wish everyone, wherever you are, a Happy and Healthy New Year. We will be celebrating New Year in Sydney where Sandra and Johann are looking forward to the arrival of younger sister Gill - consequently I am looking forward to the re-enactment of the opening scene from The Scottish Play!

The photo below was taken at Mort Bay on 29 December looking out towards Sydney Harbour Bridge - you will note that the rain has stopped and we were just about to embark on a pub crawl!

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Epistle to the SMH

When we were “on the road” the cameras were clicking constantly and the digital photographs were proliferating, often by hundreds a day. We are going to have a monumental task on our hands when we return home as we currently have about 15,000 photographs to sort through and edit. However, now we have stopped travelling and have settled into the more mundane life of Sydney urbanites, the number of photos being taken each day has dwindled to a handful and would be even less if it were not for Anatalia. This is having a direct influence on the blog.

My starting point for every blog has been a review of the previous couple of days photographs and selecting a few around which a story can be told. With a dearth of photos the blog is in danger of grinding to a halt – not before time I hear you mutter! However, when stuck for an topic, one sometimes has to fallback on that old British standby and talk about the weather. As readers of this blog will be aware the weather on our circumnavigation of Australia has been patchy to say the least with considerably more rain than expected. Every week or so there have been false dawns as summer approached, the skies cleared, the sun shone and the mercury climbed the thermometer.

Christmas Day was a good example of this. With temperatures well into the 30’s, blue skies and constant sunshine it looked like summer was here – and here to stay. However, by Boxing Day, a change was in evidence and by yesterday, 27 December, rain was once again upon us and the television news was full of disasters - stories of floods and cut off communities competed with the news of Australia being skittled out by England for a mere 98 runs. As I sat on Johann’s deck looking towards where the skyscrapers would have been if they weren’t shrouded in rain clouds something snapped and I reached for pen and paper – I was going to complain to someone. I wrote to The Sydney Morning Herald to have a whinge about the weather.

The pen was metaphoric – I actually sent an e-mail and no one was more surprised than me when, later yesterday afternoon, I received an reply saying that my letter was to be published in Tuesday’s edition of the paper. Naturally I was up at dawn awaiting the paperboy, and there I was in print. If you can’t make my words of wisdom in the photograph the text follows

“In January my wife and I left Scotland, travelled to Sydney, bought a 4WD drive and tent then set out on a year long circumnavigation of Australia. At Uluru and The Olgas we were told we were extremely lucky to see these Australian icons as grey lumps of rock with water cascading down their flanks as most people only saw them smouldering red under a clear blue sky. Throughout the year our luck held as icon after icon refused to present as stereotype. Carnarvon Gorge, Airlie Beach, Kings Canyon, the Devils Marbles, the Douglas Daly, Ningaloo Reef, Lake Eyre, the Flinders, Canberra are just some of the places on which the sun refused to shine and the rain poured down.

Now we are back in Sydney visiting the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House and guess what, our luck has continued to hold – it’s bucketing! My wife, ever the pragmatist, has just repeated what has become a well-worn mantra throughout our rain-sodden year “Well, at least it’s warm rain!”

Ah well, back to Edinburgh next month to several feet of snow and sub-zero temperatures. “


Bloody whinging Pom!

Christmas, Santa's Little Helper and the Sydney to Hobart Race

Christmas Eve saw us at a barbeque hosted by friends of Johann and Stretch. The setting was a rather fine house with gardens sweeping down to the Parramatta River shortly before it flows into Sydney Harbour. With the sun setting over the river as small craft plied their way up and down stream it was a different Christmas Eve than the ones we normally spend in Eskbank. The house was ideally situated to observe river traffic and our hostess regaled us with tales of high tragedy on the river as ferries wiped out pleasure craft usually being driven by drunken revellers. The highlight of their year came when, in the wee small hours, they were woken by a police helicopter hovering outside their bedroom window on the lookout for a car full of ram-raiders who had abandoned their vehicle nearby and started swimming. We don’t get that in Eskbank!

Then back home in time to finalise stocking filling for the morning.

Christmas Day did not go as planned. The champagne breakfast by the harbour had to be given a miss – we were rather late getting organised and by the time we got the picnic packed the sun was too high in the sky and the temperature was uncomfortably hot. Instead we had a buffet on the deck.

Young Anatalia was the star of the show. At three months of age she turned up looking rather gorgeous in a Santa's Little Helper outfit and managed to get through the whole day without crying. This was particularly surprising as at one point Steven took her into the spa for a swim where even the water pistols failed to faze her (although you wouldn’t think so from the photograph). Mind you, this was not her first experience of total immersion in water as we took her to the swimming pool earlier in the week where she seemed to enjoy getting wet. Unfortunately the staff prevented me from taking photographs in case I had paedophile tendencies – I jest not!

After a Christmas Dinner, cooked primarily by me, of smoked salmon, prawns, roast beef with roast potatoes etc – we set up a video link with Jon, Lisa, Harvey and Oliver back in Scotland. Whilst Christmas Day was almost over in Australia, in Scotland it was just beginning and they were having all the family round for Christmas Dinner where Jon was cooking - smoked salmon, prawns, roast beef with roast potatoes etc – an almost identical menu – the main difference being here it was served at 30C whereas there it was –6C.

Today, Boxing Day, was a big sporting occasion in Australia with the start of the Ashes Test match in Melbourne (where Australia were skittled out for 98 in the first innings) and the start of the Sydney to Hobart Race. We went to South Head to join the crowds watch the start of the race as the fleet of over 80 yachts left Sydney Harbour and set sail for Tasmania. The sight of these multi-million dollar boats sailing past and jockeying for position accompanied by a flotilla of small boats and at least 8 helicopters was quite breathtaking and the photos really do not do justice to the drama of the occasion. The first to round the headland and enter the open sea was “Wild Oats XI”, the race favourite which has already won the race four or five times although last year had to settle for second place.

I note as I post this blog that this is the 100th posting since I set the blog up well over a year ago. I must admit that I am as surprised as anyone that I have managed to keep it going so long.