Reunited

I have a confession to make. It's Xmas, so I hope you'll all be able to forgive me. I've been living in Macclesfield since October and have been using Photoshop and a sunbed to pretend I've been travelling.

That's not it-I'm sat on the banks of the Yarra just now. Actually, it's worse than that. This is a bit of an Oliver moment: I'm not sure I ever told this story, as I never understood it. In Vic Falls, on the river cruise (the one where I was plied with alcohol and that resulted in my hair getting braided), Oliver announced he had a wife and 3 kids. Which was a surprise to everyone as it was the first he mentioned of it in 3 weeks; he never said he wasn't married, but you kinda thought it might have come up by then. (Oliver, apologies if you're still reading this nonsense-I'm assuming you gave up ages ago or the cricket finished you off).

Fortunately, my burst of honesty is a little less full on. I've mentioned a couple of times that I was given a lot of luverly presents before I left England. Most of these were shirts predicting an England rout in the Ashes; these are now a joy to wear. I carefully packed everything I'd been given. Then I weighed my bag. I had to leave a lot of things behind, but only one gift. I'm not sure how I got this far without it; I had anticipated 'Making Waves', the autobiography of David Hasslehoff, to be a source of comfort in the difficult times, a problem solver in tricky situations, a life guide, a bible in these godless times. But it was hardback, so I left it behind.

I guess Ems and Sean will never forgive me and my dream of seeing their first born christened John Stanford is surely over.

But why bring this painful truth out now? Even if it is a 'time for giving, a time for sharing' (please tell me Cliff Richard's dead). By the miracle of a new fangled thing called the postal service, the Hoff has joined me in Melbourne.



As it's Xmas, I think another sing-a-long is called for:
'Together, forever, you'll stay in my heart.'

Now there's an evil earworm. The Hoff and I will not be separated again; or at least until excess baggage raises its ugly head.

So, aside from getting in touch with my Hoff side, what have I been doing? I found that, for me at least, it's not possible to be in Melbourne and ignore sport. I go for a stroll, and end up in Olympic Park; I saunter past the MCG, England are practising (no jokes)



I'm wandering round the top of town, pass the Post Office museum and they've got an exhibition on the Melbourne Olympics. It's not my fault! Spent a cracking 2 hours in the Post Office museum-something else I never expected to say.

This place may be more sport bonkers than me.

I have so far resisted the Aussie rules, horse racing and National Sport museums so I've been able to do some other stuff. Tho, I haven't managed the Neighbours tour yet.

So far I've visited:

The centre for the moving image, which has a mad mixture of cinema and pre-cinema stuff. Gave me a great idea of how to hide a map for some Indiana Jones style action.

The aquarium. I'm always a bit wary about this sort of thing-sea living animals usually have a LOT of space to move about in. I reckon they did as good a job as you could. There were some small tanks for the smaller fish, but the sharks (nurse) and rays were in a whopper: 2.2 million litres that's more than a bathful. And you could walk through it:



I'd forgotten how much I love rays. I swam with one (and a nurse shark) while snorkelling a few years ago. They seem like something from a sci-fi movie-their movement is so beautiful, yet other worldly. I looked at the barb more closely this time and found the description very poignant.



And boy can they eat:



I've just had to relocate; it's throwing it down with rain. Hopefully, it's doing the same on the bushfires elsewhere in the state. Promising news for the cricket too.

The immigration museum has a 'ship' you can potter through to give you an idea of what it was like sailing to Oz in the 19th century to the 1950s. The privy from the former came complete with some full on sound effects (happily they'd decided against Yorvik Viking Centre style smells). The best bit was the stories of real immigrants: the most moving were the recent ones about the displaced and political refugees, whose journeys were far worse than 4 months below the deck of a sailing ship.

The main art gallery was impressive and so large that I need to go back. From what I did see, it appears to be an interesting collection. They have a number of big name painters-Gainsbrough, Rembrandt, Reynolds, Titian, Rubens etc., but often have quite unusual and atypical works. I suppose this is due to it being a relatively young collection. The Met and the National Gallery got in there first, Melbourne got to choose from what was left. Rather than this making it a weak collection, I found it gave an alternative perspective on some familiar names. I guess I'm talking to myself by now.

Melbourne's also a great city for just wandering about-there are plenty of parks and interesting buildings, which more than make up for the American-style wide roads and no jaywalking culture that makes crossing the road a bit tedious. I've spent some enjoyable time just being aimless.

I met up with Helen and her mate Andrew the other night and we went to a gig (after dinner, accompanied by mojitos you understand). Like me, Helen used to live in Pulloxhill and her parents still do. We don't know each other, but the traumas of village life have left us with a lot in common. Andrew also likes to talk, so it was a noisy table.

After the support (a sort of Australian Joy Division), everyone stood up for the main event Augie March. I'd never heard of them, but enjoyed them for a gig where I knew none of the songs (including the Dylan cover). I was a bit distracted by some uncanny physical resemblances in the band. The lead singer looked like Johnny Elliott about 12 years ago; the bassist looked like Pakistani cricket skipper Inzaman-ul-haq and I swear the lead guitarist was Eddie from Friends (for snooker fans-looks like the Robin Hood of snooker, Anthony Hamilton). All a bit disconcerting, but a top night.

I'd been planning to go to a Carol concert on Christmas Eve, but Helen's persuaded me to go to a rooftop screening of Life of Brian (it might be the Holy Grail). There may be alcohol involved. No need for mulled wine I reckon.

Tomorrow I'm going to the Museum of Victoria. It's a very large and varied museum. And the Ashes will be on display; there's just no escaping sport!