Advantage: Al

I hesitantly went along to my first day of 'ladies tennis' at an incredibly picturesque set of courts in Sydney's eastern suburbs. I guess I was expecting a certain amount of snobbery. I was wrong. Is that reverse snobbery?

I was at once made to feel very welcome, and was instantly introduced to a couple of ladies who kindly embraced my presence. The usual pre match [size up] banter, naughtily led me to whip out my borrowed racquet and ask: 'is this a tennis racquet?'.

That worried them.

Can't imagine why.

We then proceeded to the court, me with my allocated (and quite understandably worried) partner - thanks to my racquet joke - for our first set of doubles.

Now, I've smacked a couple of balls around a court with my step son Dan over the years, and was the under 12 champ a long long time ago, so when asked about my skill level, I said, um, compared to who? Thankfully my first set was with 3 other fairly relaxed players. We were evenly matched, and had a good game. Deuce.

That was certainly not the case as the day progressed.

It's quite an unpleasant feeling, when you are losing the game for your partner. I knew I needed to up the ante. I needed to find my opponent's weakness. One particular opponent was very 'up to date' with the rules and regulations. When I am serving, after I've served the first ball, if it [suprisingly] goes IN, I fling the second, unused service ball behind me in a mad flap to get rid of it prior to the return.

NOT ALLOWED.

Apparently, it is distracting, and they could claim the point. My partner: 'no you can't'. My opponent: 'yes you can'. My partner: 'no you can't'. My opponent: 'yes you can', and so on and so forth... It was getting a bit fiery. This of course continued on when my 'up to date' opponent lost her visor in the wind (one MUST wear a visor). My equally 'up to date' partner announced after that point, that we could have claimed the point due to the distraction of said visor. Oh dear. The claws were well and truly out. During my dressing down about my flingful 2nd ball however, it was suggested, with a smile that was all fangs, that I either 'get a ball holder' (way too fancy for this chicken) OR, 'pop it in your undies dear'. Now, I'm already self conscious about gallavanting about the court with a bunch of strangers with my cellulite in FULL VIEW, and I certainly do not want to hoik (sp?) my shorts up further by shoving a bloody ball up my undies, so I replied, (I had no choice) : sorry dear, my undies are so full of arse, that I couldn't possibly fit a tennis ball in there'. 40 Love.

I then proceeded to run her around the court, trying to capitalise on her weak spot, but she had a cracking serve and a frightening forehand and beat us fair and square.

She had just turned 70. SE VEN TY!
Poetry. Good on her. Ace.

I then played with a fiercely competitive lady, who proceeded to instruct me prior to each point. It worked. We won. But it gave me the SHITS! Love all.

My last game was funny, relaxed, and close.

As I left for the day, happy in the knowledge that I wasn't completely useless, and wondering if my strained, tortured, unused muscles would actually get me to the car without collapsing, I heard a lady call to me: 'you'll do well here'.

I expect I will dear.

Premature evaluation?

Ok.

So I might have been a bit, um....... hasty.
Maybe this isn't the world's unfriendliest city after all.

It IS a hard nut to crack - that is FOR SURE - but that's nothing that a heavy, stainless steel nutcracker can't fix. Or a 40 yr old girl with balls for that matter.

Maybe, it's just possible, barely possible, that I, um, possibly, came on a bit strong? Maybe my 'desperation' could be smelt a mile off. My desperation to form those warm, easy, heart-on-sleeve type friendships of home.

Those friendships take a lot more than 2 weeks to cultivate.

But in the meantime, some of the 'good stuff' is emerging from within those hard, outer, proterctive, shells. I am starting to feel generosity, warmth, kindness, and inclusion.

Stay tuned too, as I"ve just joined an eastern suburbs ladies tennis club... should be something in that to write about...

Steamy.

One thing I've noticed about this lil ol' citay, is that it is so damn HUMID.

Some people LOVE humidity. They like the things it does to their hair.

Humid and Al however are not great mates.

I've had a couple of brushes with humidity: once whilst travelling around s.e. Asia - I was pretty much dripping with sweat and cracking the shits most of that trip. (Xave and I also got married during that trip, poor Xave)..... the other brush with humidity was whilst living in HK, however I was too busy being morose and feeling sorry for myself to notice.

For the last couple of weeks, I've been wandering around the house, wondering whether the dogs are weeing everywhere. The rugs are damp. I've even gone so far as to get down on my hands and knees and smell the floor. Not cool, but thankfully, not wee either. Today, I went to pop on my straw hat which was hanging in the hallway, and it was WET. SOAKING WET.

Riddle me this my humidity dwelling friends: would my hat be soaking up the moisture in the air? and if it is, should I be placing many straw hats around the place to draw in the moisture, thereby keeping it out of the rugs?

Advice please, or is there nothing to be done?

Principal's awards & principal smartarses..

Australia's unfriendliest city?

The weather (apart from the last 48 hours) is fairly perfect. The outlook over the harbour on one side, and the ocean on the other are equally - and unfairly - perfect. Roo's transition to school has been perfect - note for happy beginning: hold your child back a month or so, give his teacher a 'give or take' start date, so that when he arrives at school he is so expected that he has reached celebrity status.... Roo's class ROCKS. He is happy, confident, and - brag o'clock - is already the proud recipient of the weekly principal's award. Cookie's favourite time of the day is school drop off and pick up. She adores the girls in Roo's class, and has everyone - kids, parents and teachers alike - completely hoodwinked. :) She is in her element.

The last couple of weeks have been a bit rough tho'. Someone told me that Sydney was widely known as Australia's unfriendliest city, I was desperate to disprove this, but struggling to all the same, and so last week, after a teary, pmt fuelled call to a pal, lamenting absent friends and unfamiliar faces, the universe thankfully kicked in, and produced, not one, but 2 invitations to playdates, a birthday invitation for a grownup, as well as a birthday invitation for a childerbeast to follow up on last weeks' birthday party. A visit from my wonderful cousin Jules, a visit from the wonderful Lords (we had kept that a secret from the kids until their oldest mates rang the doorbell! - priceless).

Gotta love that universe sometimes.

I've also managed to scrounge up some work, however, the universe hasn't exactly pushed the right buttons on that front tho. Might need a bit of a 're-tweak'. Without naming names, it's been an 'interesting' transition back into the workforce.

9 months off.
2 days on.
On the verge of about 9 more months off..... at least.

The thing about work for me, is that it gives me an outlet to TALK. It gives me a break from the kids, and usually, a good old belly laugh. What sort of an idiot then, chooses a job whereby one is not required to talk - oh, apart from of course: " would you prefer red wine or white? ".... My age is also against me, my colleagues are 12 years old, they aren't giving me the chance to show them how hilariously funny I am. I'm just not cool enough to be given any attention. I feel like one of the Baby Boomers on TAYG. Sort of. Which leads me to the principal smartarse bit of this post: One of the ugly things about the hospitality industry, is unfortunately, ego. It is rife here. Get over yourselves.

Tomorrow is the start of a new week... lets see where it takes me.

initial observations.

Well, 5 days in, and so far, so good.

We are in such an idyllic spot, so very lucky, and I dare say it's going to very hard to leave come August.

Big city living. Crikey. I cannot believe how wildly expensive Sydney is, well I can, but one tends to put these things out of one's mind. I am also dead scared of driving. The couple of times I've done it, I've been bloody well honked at so many times it's exhausting, not to mention infuriating. Lets not forget either, that prior to the boat, I was in a coastal town. Not the big smoke. I have become a bit of a nanna.

It is also interesting to note that the locals mostly happen to be either English or South African. Apparently Durban & Brighton have moved to Watsons Bay and Vaucluse. There is an entire aisle devoted to the .za tucker at the local Coles... actually, I've been looking for an old South African pal for years. (she probably lives down the road).

To say I feel a bit out of place would be an understatement.

The kids however feel completely at home. They love being back in a house, love the dogs which we're looking after, love the local sea baths and the local playground. Their months of confidence building on the boat, has served them well. They are so good at introducing themselves, and making friends. I seem to be struggling a bit on that front. Usually not shy about crapping on to anyone at all, any conversations I start are met with agonising disinterest. Obviously choosing the wrong people to meet? or the wrong topic? Thankfully kids don't give a rat's arse about image and breeding...

Work will be next on the list of things 'to do'.

Actually, might pop that little chestnut a bit further down. that. list.

x

packing up the pirate booty.

So the day has come. The day we alight our humble floating home.

Life will become eassssy again.
We will have fresh running drinking water.
A washing machine.
Space to swing a cat (or 2 little dogs for that matter).

So why then do we both feel disappointed?

Awaitea is our space. It's our home. It's where we've had our ups & downs, tears & laughter. It's where we've carried the weight of two young children and the worries caused by being surrounded by water.

We've been living in a constant state of necessary hyper sensitivity. Sensitive to the sounds of the electrical buzzes, the water pumps turning on and off, the footsteps of the kids, the wind up above and the waves down below, to the smells of the sulphuric burning battery, the something caught in the toilet valve, the deisel from passing boats, to the flashing light of the carbon monoxide alarm, to the feel of the damp wood, and the exploration of it's source.

We. Are. Exhausted.

and yet, as we [temporarily] farewell this life for the time being, we are overwhelmed with the feeling of the boat rocking us gently to sleep, & of the kids leaping confidently off the side of the boat into the cool water.

It will be fine, I know it will. There are plenty of pros. No cons.

Do I sound convinced?

A little light on, in a heavy sort of way..

Not much action on the blog front of late.. Xave & I have been 'working a few things out'.

It's funny. When we first starting living on our boat, it was surprising how many single blokes we met living on boats who had started off as part of a couple.

Indeed when we started telling people that we were planning to live on a boat, too many of them offered (?) the same sort of stories: "We had friends who lived on a boat. They're divorced now." etc etc.

So it's really not funny at all, and often a foregone conclusion I imagine.

We are over it. For the time being at least.

I for one, am sick of feeling grotty. Sick of leaving the boat looking like I live on a boat. I'm becoming lazy, bored, and intolerant, (yeah yeah, I know, MORE intolerant). Cast Iron Cookie is fine, but Roo feels anxious when we're sailing, and feels sick. Thank God Xave is keeping us all sane. The bloody shark we passed as we were heading out of Broken Bay was possibly the straw that broke the camels back.

So when our friends asked us if we wanted to look after their home and dogs in Watsons Bay until August, it only took a couple of days of tears of defeat (mine) to decide that we would be MAD not to....

My question to you is this. Should I stop writing these sporadic posts?

In one way, we still feel most definately 'adrift', and we are still 'family robinson'. But is there enough material in the eastern suburbs of Sydney for a bogan girl from Queenscliff to write about?.... Hmmm, I wonder..