Standing outside in the garden yesterday morning, I lifted my face
upwards, closed my eyes and basked in glorious, warm sunshine. Even up here on top of a mountain range, the
New South Wales autumn sun is a damn sight warmer than anything that’s been
available in England these past 8 months.
Stood there transfixed, listening to those yodelling birds that always
appear on Aussie film and tv soundtracks.
Very happy to be back here.
That said, a little while later I must say I felt somewhat discomforted
listening to my hosts talking about a potential funnel-web nest near the back
door… and there was me barefoot!
Apparently, if it rains (and it will), we all have to keep an eye as
they are rather partial to finding a dry spot to shelter in – like under the
duvet or behind the sun-visor of your car!
Suffice to say, my polite offer to help dig the garden and do some
weeding has now been rescinded.
Drove through Katoomba in daylight enroute to Lithgow to sort out my
mobile broadband. Katoomba apparently
began life as part of the mining community up here, the point where coal was
transported down the mountainside. Much
of the architecture is 1920s, and has a faded grandeur particular to small
Aussie towns. Now very much a key
tourist destination as it’s the gateway to Wentworth Falls and the Three
Sisters walk, which I am told is spectacular and apparently planned for during
my stay. I was here over 20 years ago,
but other than the terrifying funicular rail down the side of the gorge, I have
hardly any recollection at all, although as I wound my way up from Sydney last
night, it all seemed vaguely familiar, even in the dark. May just have been my addled brain though –
not having enough sleep does make you at once both light-headed and foggy and
at the same time energetic.
We stopped at Blackheath for a late lunch, and sat outside a café, my
friend looking a little chilly and not convinced at my exhorting how lovely and
warm it was. Am advised that Blackheath
is a tad bohemian and artsy-craftsy, and famous for the annual Rhododendron
Festival! As Sydney becomes more and
more expensive in which to buy property, so folks are looking to the Blue
Mountains – in theory it’s only 90 minutes from the city, although in simpatico
with England, most of the route seemed to be fouled up with road-works, so I
shall be allowing plenty of time to get to the city-centre on Saturday. There is also a very scenic railway route,
but that takes up to 2.5 hours.
My friend has made me hugely welcome and it’s a joy to spend time
nattering. We first met when I was 18 years
old, so it’s quite an event to go back over so many years and swap stories from
decades long since past. I saw him very
briefly last year in Sydney during very painful circumstances (for him), but
before then I have to go back to 1992 for when last we met. Oceans of water under the bridge since then,
for both of us, but somehow satisfying to look backwards and then consider the
here and now.
So, all my interviews are set up – will be seeing one guy in Sydney on
Saturday, then another 3.5 hours north of Sydney on Monday. This will mean driving up on Sunday afternoon
and staying at the All Seasons motel in Taree before driving over to his house
on Monday morning. The journey from
Sydney will follow my route from last year but in reverse, although this time
am hopeful my rental Hyundai will be an improvement on last year’s gutless
little automatic Micra – some of the trucks on these ‘ere roads are enormous!
Next Friday I then drive into Sydney again to meet two of the Sydney
Telegraph ‘girls’ – spoke to one of them on the phone yesterday afternoon, and
she was thrilled to know I had arrived and actually serious about hearing her
memories and recollections of 1968. Am
still in awe that 45 years ago, at 24 years old, these three women climbed into
a little (and frankly ill-suited) car and took off across Europe and Asia to
drive the 10,000 miles to Sydney with absolutely no competitive motor racing or
rallying experience whatsoever. Jenny,
who I spoke with yesterday, remarked that when it was all over (i.e. the next day),
they all simply went back to work, oblivious of the news stories, PR,
publishing deals and attention that continued long after the last car trundled
into Warwick Farm.
It’s all a far cry from ‘NHS 111’ (the work I have been doing these
past few months, for those who don’t know/haven’t had to put up with my cries
of suffering), and a welcome one at that.
Now all I have to do is stop dreaming about ‘operational
process’ – a sure sign of a slightly damaged brain, if you ask me!
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