Bananas

Apart from digging huge quantities of copper, gold, and uranium from the scorched earth, Australia is mostly an agricultural country and the fruit and vegetables are fantastic. Much of it is also only available in season as very little fruit is imported. So right now we have no mangos but loads of big, juicy, and very tasty mandarins to go with the dozens of lemons which are weighing down the branches of the tree in our garden.

I mention this because, while taking a leisurely breakfast at a smart cafe this weekend, I was surprised to see slices of banana decorating my porridge. I have nothing against bananas in my porridge, quite the opposite; I was taken aback because this was my first banana for three months and normally I am near the front of the queue at the greengrocers.

In April, cyclone Larry crashed into northern Queensland and, by the time it blew out again, took the livelihoods of the banana farmers with it. The pictures of trees ripped out of the ground were pretty dramatic and over 80,000 houses had no power for a week.

Apparently the trees will grow back relatively quickly and the government have looked suitably concerned, which, while reassuring for the farmers, still leaves the country in the grip of a banana squeeze.

So, along with big gaps on the shelves at the greengrocers, there are signs in cafes which say ‘No Banana Milkshakes’ and if you fancy a banana and cinnamon muffin with your breakfast latte…forget it.

While a few bananas are still on sale, the laws of supply and demand dictate that the price is around £1 per banana. And those available are not the prettiest of fruit. At the moment you have to be a big fan of small black bananas to get your fix.

The obvious solution would be to import a few tonnes of bananas, but this is Australia and they are particularly wary of inadvertently introducing more virulent pests and diseases at the same time.

Australia is rightly very worried about importing new variables into its ecological mix. The place is a unique and fragile environment which has evolved largely in isolation and is vulnerable to imported species, be they cats, toads, ants, weeds or viruses.

But that’s a long story and the exploits of the feral camels will have to wait for another day.

Meanwhile, in the absence of reasonably priced, yellow bananas, Mandy has just about completed her apprenticeship at the wildlife park. After six months of sweeping up leaves and dusting out cobwebs in mortal fear of snakes and spiders, she has been offered a role working with koalas. This is a much sought after job which involves picking up droppings and fetching truck loads of eucalyptus leaves. It is the pinnacle of the volunteer’s career path.

Inbetween stooping to pick up marsupial pooh, she will continue as rat breeder in chief, a role very popular with the snake population of the wildlife park. This makes her lots of friends, as the picture shows…I reckon the smile is a little forced.

As for me, the highlight of my week was a narrow victory at the ping pong table over a very disappointed town planner. There really is nothing more satisfying than beating an Aussie at absolutely anything. I guess everyone must have a hobby.

Keep well
M&W

Just A Sliver

Since the news last week that our tennis tournament had been stolen by sneaky Queensland, the media have been keeping an eye out for any similar behaviour. Sure enough, this week we find that our northern neighbours are stealing nurses from South Australia. Not in late night body snatches from the hospital canteen, but through the underhand trick of offering a lot more money.

Queensland is the home of all year sunshine, surfing, rain forests, and now, increasingly affluent nurses. Quite an attractive sort of place which I thought might appeal to Mandy.

I asked her if she wanted to head north to work to escape the inclement weather, earn a bit more money and, of course, to watch some tennis. But, despite even these lures, she wouldn’t hear of it, declaring that Adelaide wasn’t such a bad place. She also added that people from Queensland tended to come from close families, or something like that.

She has got a point and, just to demonstrate this, we celebrated Christmas lunch with our diving club at a very well situated restaurant up in the hills. On a good day it is possible to look across the eucalypt covered hilltops to the sea while enjoying the fabulous food they dish up.

However, this was Christmas so the view was limited to a very large rain cloud while we opened our presents and pulled the crackers. It all seemed very traditional until my kangaroo steak arrived.

Why we had Christmas in the middle of July remains a mystery, but a rather tasty one in the case of my steak and one which rounded off a great weekend during which I came face to face with the world’s most venomous snakes.

Mandy had a week of night shifts, which never makes her brightest little ray of sunshine, so I was happy to make a dash for the Barossa Valley to keep a date with a company which milks snakes for their venom.

I have to underline that I was very lucky to get this invitation. It was the fruit of repeatedly mithering a nice chap who happens to know the owner of the business and who spends his weekends clearing houses of dangerous reptiles; for fun as well as the money.

So it was with a skip in my step that I followed the chief snake wrangler into one of the sheds situated among the pruned vines of the rolling Barossa hills.

I have to admit that my bounce disappeared pretty quickly as a cage door was opened and, three feet from my face, a large cobra sprung to it’s full height with it’s hood fully spread. My first instinct was to jump backwards with a little yelp; not quite the image that image I was hoping to portray!

From this point on, poise recovery and adopting a cool exterior were my key targets. This meant that as each cage was opened, I had to put my face as close as possible to huge African vipers, rattlesnakes, more cobras and Australia’s finest specimens, which are generally more toxic than any other snake you are likely to come across.

The only inmates we were not allowed anywhere near were the coastal taipans. These are pretty much the most venomous snake in the world and they look like it too; they are lithe and menacing with deeply intense eyes. A beautiful, but deadly animal. There were 160 of these snakes in the space of an average living room, somebody somewhere wanted a lot of taipan venom!

I asked why they kept so many, (10 of every other species seemed sufficient), and was told that a special customer required it. It all seemed a bit suspicious to me. OK it is probably the health service which needs those quantities to treat unfortunate fruit pickers, but maybe, just maybe, it was an evil criminal mastermind of Bond film magnitude and I have uncovered a conspiracy which threatens the world.


Anyway, it was an absolute privilege to spend a few hours with the people who run this place (each of the 600 snakes is hand milked) and to get so close to such fantastic animals.

The only way to improve on this was to drop into a small winery along the way and sample a few of their finest drops. Perfect.

I slept well that night, although it was in the cinema. Mandy didn’t mind too much as she could gaze with starry eyes at Johnny Depp while I happily snored the film away.

Hope all is well
M&W

Anyone for Tennis?

Adelaide revolves around its lunch; more so than anywhere else in my limited experience. I am a small and insignificant part of the machine but, much to Mandy’s irritation, am still expected to attend a pleasing number of luncheons for various speeches and launches.
A day in the city has three phases; the mornings pass by at a gentle pace of slow and steady achievement while the afternoons are spent in quiet contemplation of the lunchtime wine. In between times though, the city bursts alive like a roman candle over the buffet table, everybody desperate to give and gain a day’s opinion into two short hours.

Most of these lunches are great fun as well as being very interesting. Take my lunch this week at a talk by a professor of zoology about how to balance the town planning needs of Adelaide with the requirements of sustainable biodiversity. Get me!!! It was held in an intimate wine cellar and the buffet was first rate with an excellent shiraz, so I was told.

Apart from being a fascinating topic, this lunch witnessed Adelaide’s first case of graph rage as a member of the audience frothed over in frustration (and possibly MacLaren Vale shiraz) about the integrity of the axes on a chart showing the impact of introduced mammals on native species. Most amusing it was too as he could not be silenced on the matter. When he was eventually convinced to take his seat again, it was with a promise to see the speaker later.

You see, lunch is very serious here. Alas Mandy can only hear about them second hand, I like to keep her informed on the standard of food at these places.

On the subject of threatened species, many people in Adelaide will tell you that the city is itself in danger of fast becoming an irrelevant backwater. There may be grain of truth in this too. While it will never have the size or profile of Sydney or Melbourne, people worry that it is becoming the poor relation to cities like Brisbane and Perth.

These cities are booming on the back of massive mining exports and are leaving Adelaide behind, despite the huge mineral deposits in South Australia and the billions of dollars being invested in even bigger holes in the desert.

I have a theory that the city is suffering in comparison because of its attitude as much as anything. This town has something of a split personality. Part of it talks about being a growing and dynamic city while there is a comfortable body of opinion quietly undermining this vision in preference for a nice quiet life of long lunches and sipping wine on their balconies overlooking the parks. In short, it doesn’t walk the walk.

It was announced today that Adelaide’s international tennis tournament will move to Brisbane despite being held here since 1890. It is a significant and popular tournament which acts as the warm up for the Australian Open in January. It is also something of a curiosity in that Tim Henman won it once.

The city is outraged, in an understated and reserved sort of way. Meanwhile the tournament will be held at a shiny new tennis complex in Brisbane and I am left wondering why Queensland has the ambition to spend $70m on a national tennis centre and Adelaide does not.

This is not the first time Adelaide has lost a major event to a more ambitious neighbour. For eleven years from 1985 the city hosted the Australian Grand Prix through the streets and parks until Melbourne showed the kind of initiative often lacking here and spirited the race away.
As a pretty poor substitute, the city still hosts a big motor race each year but is not an international event. The only people really interested in racing big Australian saloons are big Australian saloon drivers who love their country and western music.

Meanwhile the rest of the country sees Adelaide as quiet and rather sleepy. This is a little unfair on a great place, but the city really needs to be fighting harder for its share of the cake, whether it is sporting events, business headquarters or exhibitions. It all seems a little half hearted to me.

On a brighter note though, the city’s national Aussie Rules team are by far the best team in the country and, as I write, are on TV handing out a spanking to Sydney which will be very satisfying for everyone here.

Cheers
M&W

Inquest

In the wake of their cruel and frustrating exit from the world cup, Australia is going through the inevitable inquest. In fact they are going on and on and about that dive to the point of relentless tedium.

It was a dive and it was tough luck, but this country needs to wake up to some eternal soccer truths if it is to get over the unfamiliar feeling of entering a competition and not winning it.

The first lesson is that Italians dive and, more often than not, win close and dour matches. The second lesson is that Harry Kewell is always injured, this time developing gout after the game against Croatia. Apparently another medical first for the world’s most committed footballer.

Thankfully the backlash against this sentiment has started. There is a growing voice reminding the maudlin, arriviste soccer fans that their team won only one game out of four, and that supporting plucky losers is not the Aussie thing to do. Leave that sort of thing to the Poms!

On an average day Australians enjoy nothing better than bringing the rich and famous down off their pedestal. Only public figures of the stature of Kylie, Don Bradman or Dame Edna are safe from the relentless sniping which they so enjoy. Even Rolf Harris gets a hard time, and the bloke is a true Aussie legend of galactic significance who, I think, may still hold the West Australian junior back stroke record.

Anyway back to the football, hopefully for the last time, as our own world cup inquest drags on and the welcome sight of Sven’s back fills the media. In England’s scrapbook of penalty shoot out losses, this was my most challenging as I watched in a room full of Australians at an engagement party which, until the footy came on, was a pretty good night.

Restraining strong language and putting on a brave face were not easy at all in the face of numerous smirking Aussies. But manage it I did…barely.

After all that, I was happy to leave the city and it’s angst ridden, yellow shirted mob behind and head into the hills for a day out. Firstly to find a bit of peace and quiet, then, fortuitously, to find a pub which helped me to forget all about penalties.

Called Grumpy’s, after the two middle aged chaps who run the place, it operates on a very simple basis; if you don’t like pizza or home brewed beer, go elsewhere. On the other hand, if you want pizza you have only ever dreamt of and unique beer, just make sure you get there early. The beauty of the place is that they know what they do well and don’t bother with anything else.

The owners look like they take full advantage of their product too, which is always a good sign. The only problem is who gets the car keys!

Other events, a couple of weeks ago, saw my TV debut while queuing in the small hours for the second round of Ashes ticket sales. When I eventually got to the front of the line, it was 10.30am, by which time I should have been beavering away at my desk.

As I may have mentioned in the past, Adelaide is a small town and I was spotted on the evening news by at least five of my colleagues, firstly standing in line and then making a show of counting my tickets wearing a big grin, as instructed by the cameraman.

All of which was a little embarrassing as, strictly speaking, I should have been at work. Fortunately my boss likes his cricket and is an understanding chap.

As for Mandy, she had been gently dozing in front of the TV and narrowly avoided a nasty falling off chair incident as I filled the screen. The poor girl didn’t deserve a shock like that as she was getting over another rotten run of shifts at the hospital. Bless her, they do get their money’s worth at that hospital.

But despite the long hours, she still seems to be enjoying herself, even in the coldest South Australian winter for 40 years. They never mentioned that in the brochure!

Keep well
M&W