Christmas Day Was Almost Spectacular

We had a very pleasant Christmas Day 2011, with the sole exception that our grandson Tory wasn't with us. Had he been present, it would have been a spectacular day.

However, as I cooked roast lamb, chicken and pork in our backyard barbecue amid a 39C temperature, I couldn't help but ponder how inappropriate many of the traditions brought to Australia by our English forefathers were in our climate. Roast dinner in the Central Australian heat? I wonder.
With the rather hot outside temperature and lack of breeze, we decided to have lunch inside in airconditioned luxury. Around midday we untabbed our first cans of beer and blew the cork off a bottle of Moet Champagne for the women. (Real men don't drink campagne ... and it tastes terrible too).

The meat was cooked to perfection, but some of the vegetables were slightly overdone. Not to worry, we managed to have a lovely feast from about 2 pm and topped off the roast, vegetables and salads with two different types of cheese cake. Nobody complained about the food.

Friends Tina and Vivek had also contributed some Indian food, some of which, because I can never recall the name which sounds something like the politically incorrect gollywog, I call mystery bags. Whatever they are called, they are very tasty and usually come with an equally tasty sauce.

Incredibly, my total alcohol intake for the day was two cans of beer (1 x 500ml, the other 375ml) and a large glass of red wine. I can't recall a time in the last few decades when I have consumed so little at Christmas. I really must get a grip of myself before I become a teetotaller.

Above are photos of Dale and me with the vegies and Christina and Meredith taking a break from preparing something in the kitchen.

We hope you had a lovely Christmas Day too.

Robin

Season's Greetings!

To all of those who celebrate Christmas, we wish you a

Merry Christmas and Happy 2012.

Robin and Christina Henry

The Day My Blundstones Died

In 2009 I wrote a post about the Betts Shoes for Old Feet  wherein I described the many years of service I had from a pair of Airflex shoes. Today I have to decry the death of my Blundstones.

That death occurred in a very embarrassing and messy way. Having not worn my Blundstones for a while, I decided to wear them to work yesterday, the fateful day.

I work at what is known as "Q Block", the Prisoner Services Section at a correctional facility and have a modest office with a carpeted floor and share the block with 25 other people. The hallways consist of painted concrete and after a short while my colleagues started commenting on the black flecks appearing from one end of the block to the other (from coffee room to photocopier).

Eventually, the black flecks also appeared on my carpet and I realised that I was the offender. Within an hour or two, my carpet looked like the Stuart Highway (connecting Adelaide with Darwin) when a road train has a tyre blowout ... pieces of rubber everywhere!

 

As I had nothing else to wear, I had to continue walking and depositing shoe rubber for the remainder of my day. By the end of my shift, the two heels of my boots were almost completely demolished and parts of the sole were falling off too.

The photo at left shows some of the damage.

Now I'm left wondering why a pair of shoes that were so comfortable and which have walked the hills of Oman, the streets of Al Ain and Prague, visited the Louvre, and been many other places all of a sudden decided to fall apart.

There's a kind of sadness when you end a relationship with a friend that has provided so much comfort for so long.

Robin