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I woke up on Monday feeling less than brand new. My legs did not want to move and my head was a bit thick; the combined effects of the annual Adelaide ‘fun’ run and ensuing hospitality.

The run is a 12km affair from the middle of the city to the beach and attracts all sorts, from Commonwealth Games athletes to 95 year olds who are happy to walk it with their great grandchildren. In all 30,000 people took part and it was great fun.

It was a hot day, even at 8.00am, as we all jostled around the start and stumbled along the main boulevard of the city. It took a while for the numbers to thin out and there were plenty of trips, oaths and collisions along the way. All very entertaining.

I have always felt that running is a bit dull if you are not chasing a ball around and I worried that the distance might drag a bit; but far from it. With the crowds cheering us on and bands playing along the pavements all the way to the beach the time seemed to fly by and I felt I was running pretty quickly.

All of which was a total illusion. The clock said I had achieved what might charitably be called a leisurely pace as I trotted in at 61 minutes and 26 seconds. I was a bit disappointed not to get under an hour but still pretty pleased with myself as the 2091st fastest person in the race. This pride lasted until about 5 minutes after I arrived at work when my boss merrily pointed out that his 71 year old uncle had gone round in 55 minutes.

There’s always next year though, and he’ll be 72 then so maybe I’ll get a bit closer!

The inevitable barbecue followed as a group of people from the gym sat in the sun complaining about their aches and pains and how they would run a better time next year. It was only supposed to be for a couple of hours but, I suppose predictably, took all day and a couple of cases of beer.

After all this strenuous work, I thought a spot of fishing would put some balance back into life and took my newly acquired rod to the jetty.

It goes without saying that I caught nothing, but that’s really not the point. Standing on the pier with fishing tackle gained me entry to a select club; a club where ancient Greek blokes reeling in undersized fish acknowledged me with an almost imperceptible nod. I was one of them for a couple of hours.

Membership of this club also gained me a private audience with the mad bloke on the pier who was pulling out ever larger crabs while telling me ever taller stories. I let his monologue wash over me as a pod of dolphins played a little out to sea, a pouch of pelicans swooped low over the jetty and I waited in vain for a bite.

We’re going to have another go at fishing today, this time with Mandy to provide the sound effects!

Meanwhile, good news at last on the curry front. It seems there is a decent Indian restaurant in Adelaide, in fact it’s pretty bloody good. It is also liberally decorated with cricket bats signed by teams from the last 30 years, apparently it is a tradition for the players to adjourn here during the test match.

Of course all this makes it a pretty expensive night out as well, but it didn’t seem to matter so much as the door to a future of decent curry opened and another one slammed shut on the world of bland, brown slop.

Cheers
M&W

Khaki

It seems like ages since we posted any news here, it has been a busy few weeks and there is a lot to tell.

Of course you won’t need telling about the tragic death of Steve Irwin, on hearing the news we all expected a punch line to follow, it was all a bit unbelievable and shocking. I’m sure it was the same over there.

Much though this past week has become Australia’s Princess Di moment, there remains a vocal minority which considers his daredevil antics as little more than exploitation of animals for financial gain. This lobby saw him as a mere lion tamer who picked on very big crocodiles.

On the other hand, most of the money he did earn apparently went to buying up vast areas of outback, setting up animal rescue centres and plenty of other conservation projects. A TV crew stopped a man in the street for his reaction; “I reckon Australia has lost a bloody good bloke today”, he said. I think that about sums it up.

While we are on the subject of Australia’s wildlife, the last couple of months have seen the annual influx of calving whales to the beaches an hour or so south of the city. How cool is that?

They come in July and August and lollop around in the sheltered bays taking respite from the cold Antarctic waters where they spend the rest of the year.

These beaches were the centre of Australian whaling for 200 years but now thrive on the hordes of people jostling to get a clear view through their binoculars.

And a pretty spectacular view it is too. Some of the whales are only 50 yards offshore and, if you haven’t seen a whale before, believe me, they are huge. I thought the big black shapes just below the surface were reefs until their noisy blowholes revealed them to be 60 feet long whales. They are massive! As are the calves, the homely whale museum at Victor Harbour reckons these baby whales are 20 feet long and weigh a tonne when born.

So we joined the crowd on the beach with woolly hats and thermos flasks, (springtime and deep winter can’t decide who’s turn it is at the moment), to watch these gentle giants lie pretty motionless and mostly submerged in what must be a state of some exhaustion.

However magnificent these animals are, half an hour watching the apparently lifeless lumps through binoculars does drag a bit and works up an appetite.

Thanks to Mandy, I was fortunate enough to return the very next day to see the whales again when there were no crowds. She had left her bag in the restaurant and not realised until we got home. Many thanks to the honest soul who handed it over the counter. This meant a road trip to collect the bag for Jonny McGarty (back from the desert) and I.

We took the scenic route, or alternatively we got lost, as Jonny helpfully and repeatedly pointed out. We drove through winding lanes deep in the Adelaide hills, meandering through avenues of enormous gum trees in full blossom with what seemed like a thousand technicolour parrots squabbling at every corner. It really is a beautiful time of year and wild parrots beat the socks off pigeons.

Carried away by the sun setting on the rolling, eucalypt carpeted hills, we pulled into what looked a charming country pub only to find some wobbly locals who must have been sat at the same barstools for at least a few days. For a Monday teatime, there were some spectacular drunks. Our favourite was trying to tell his wife that he had only just arrived and, honest darling, had been working all day, apparently he couldn’t stand up because he was so tired. I could live in the country, no worries.

But before I harbour too many dreams of my own barstool in the hills, I have to complete the City to Bay race. This annual fun run does exactly what is says in the tin; it starts in the city and ends up in the sea 12km away.

In the spirit of trying anything once while over here I have put my name down. Unfortunately, wild horses could not convince Mandy to enter. Training has been going fairly well, I haven’t got any blisters, or been chased by any dogs or run over on the poorly lit streets.

Sunday is the big day, so fingers crossed I can make it less than an hour. Adelaide is 40m above sea level and I guess the sea is at sea level, so I keep telling myself it’s all down hill.

Hope you’re all keeping well.
M&W