When you head down from Perth city on the train, you reach a point where the land melts away, and where the river meets the sea.. and where the bay at the edge of that sea is just filled with dinosaurs.
I spent a couple of hours last-last weekend chatting with my BFF Ash, who lives in Melbourne with her hubby and her soon-to-burst-out-in-a-non-Alienesque-manner baby. At one point she was describing something, and she just casually dropped the word palaver.
Breaking down the month-long trip back home into bloggable, bite-sized pieces is a bit tricky. Because you know, when you’re home, you tend to photograph differently than when you’re away, and my shots are sporadic at best (and slightly shoddy at worst). I regret a bit not taking photos of all the Big Events, and not getting photos with all of the many friends we met up with while back- but I think in part that’s because we were less holiday, and more living. Christmas eve was spent at Andy’s folks’ house, with his close family, including his Pop. I didn’t take photos. Christmas Morning was spent at Andy’s Cousin’s house, and involved many kids. One of the kids, a twin, decided that I was ‘his person’. He spent the morning showing me his toys, draping himself over me, sulking when I talked to other people (including adults), and, eventually, cried when I had to go home. He was very cute, but needless to say, I didn’t take any photos. Christmas midday was spent unwrapping …
As you travel south from WA’s Fremantle or Coogee, down Cockburn road in the Rockingham direction, you get to a point where, for a brief few seconds, a sort of caravan park appears on your right. The site has been there since the 1930s, which by Australian standards, is pretty old. Since then, 178 caravans have taken root, and now exist in various stages of maturity in a mstrange progression from (movable) caravan-with-annex, to proper little shack.
For all the obvious reasons, I haven’t felt much like talking about Christmas Cookies in the last few days. But here we are now, on Christmas eve itself, and it seems like Christmas will happen whether we are ready or not, so here goes.
Christmas in Australia, like much of the culture and man of the cultural events here, is a weird little hybrid mix of traditions.
Did any of you guys watch The Secret Garden as kids? It ends with this rather weird magic/dream-like sequence where all the kids try to summon the dad/uncle character by dancing around a campfire, which somehow causes his (dead) wife to come to him in dream form and whisper ‘I’m in the Garden’. Which is my way of sayin, in a long-winded manner, that this post is about the garden. Not really my garden, but the garden of my parents’ affectionately-named ‘Wilson Swamp House’.
I thought I’d flick up some pictures from the wedding of my lovely cousin Ashleigh and her now-hubby Justin. Beware all ye who enter! The following contains an absolute mishmash of photos taken from various cameras and (heavens forbid!) phones. Most photo credit goes to Ariel and Andrew M. Chronology is lost, colours are confused, and many of the dance moves captured below should not be tried at home. Welcome to my family guys!