Yesterday, I was pleasantly surprised to learn Ekka Day was not next Wednesday but today. The news spurred me into finishing things up at work on hump day eve.
What is Ekka Day? I hear you say. It is a public holiday for Brisbane folks to be able to attend the Royal Queensland Show, organised by The Royal National Agricultural and Industrial Association of Queensland.
In true Aussie style the word for show or ‘Exhibition’ was changed to ‘Ekka’. I don’t see this word replacing expo any time soon, keeping it as an Australianism.
Those of you who follow me on Instagram may have seen the above photo taken at Cloudland, Italian restaurant, bar and event venue. Another word anchored in the hearts and memories of Brisbanians or Brisbanites. A taste of a post to come.
Stan has been an important member of our family since 2010. We prefer for Stan to accompany us when going out for long lunches rather than leaving him alone at home.
In Australia, rules about pets attending eating establishments are created and monitored by local councils.
Being creatures of habit we have favoured venues that welcome us with Stan including, Capriccio Osteria, Leichhardt, New South Wales; Marinara Ristorante Cafe, Hawthorne, Queensland; Julius Pizzeria, South Brisbane, Queensland; Patina at Customs House, Brisbane, Queensland.
Occasionally we try out a new place. Mostly we check online or call ahead to find out if our party will be welcomed.
There is a shared excitement about going for lunch. An anticipation about the potential delightful delicacies we may well devour.
Nothing pours cold water on our enthusiasm more than comments about ‘the dog’, especially when we have previously been to the eatery.
‘You will have to sit to the right of the opening (into the restaurant) in case the dog’s hairs fly in’. Mamma’s Redcliffe, Queensland.
Or a new place
‘You have to sit at a table on the footpath. The dog has to be on the ground. Please take the dog off your lap, it has to be on the ground. The council come around and check. I will get into trouble’. La Dolce Vita, Milton, Queensland.
‘You can have the table at the end. You cannot sit under the canopy’. Cafe Gioia, Norton Street, Leichhardt, New South Wales.
The pedestrianised part of Queen Street in Brisbane, a.k.a Queens Street Mall does not allow dogs even on a lead.
Similarly if we were to take Stan on public transport (buses, trains) in Brisbane he has to be in a carry case.
Fortunately, we can now sit outside on the river ferries providing Stan wears a muzzle.
There are times when I lose myself down an Internet browser rabbit hole. One of the most recent was when attempting to satisfy my curiosity about how the word ‘bob’ became slang for a shilling.
The above example was minted in the year of my birth. Back then there were 12 pennies in a shilling and 20 shillings to the pound, but within that were farthings (quarter of a penny), halfpennies, thrupenny bits, tanners (six pennies), half-crowns, crowns and florins (two shillings).
This system was in use for over a millennium and had its origins in Roman times, when a pound of silver would be divided into 240 denarii.
On 15 February 1971, currency in the UK was decimalised. New coinage was issued alongside the old coins. 5p and 10p were the first to appear, introduced in April 1968. They were the same size, composition and value as the old shilling and florin coins, and circulated interchangeably with them. In October 1969 a 50p coin was introduced, and as D-Day approached, the old halfpenny, half-crown, and 10 shilling notes were withdrawn from circulation.
I found the following bob meanings:
slang for a shilling, unit of pre-decimalised English (and other nations’) currency
Abbreviation of plumb-bob
Victorian era abbreviation of bob-stick, measure of gin
I am a conflict avoiding being who is gratified by observing and sharing in the happiness and enjoyment of others. This makes me a mostly flexible, adaptable, and compromising human.
When doing or making something, it becomes an extension of myself through the time, energy, care, and consideration, I have invested.
When met with dissatisfaction, derision or causing disharmony, I find it challenging to observe and step back from the emotive facial expressions, behaviours, and vocalised response of others whose opinion I value.
With a tendency to catastrophize, I may misread visual and audible cues leading to automatic assumption of fault, guilt, blame and shame.
Words and expressions pierce my consciousness like arrows. The protruding shafts remain exposed to be flicked and kicked.
At my most vulnerable, my only recourse is to close down; repressing the emotions causing them to compress, churn, and pulsate in my chest and head.
Amidst the inner turmoil, thoughts do not combine into coherent wholes. There is an incapacity for the clarity of articulation to be able to respond, discuss or even graciously accept responsibility.
It takes time to release the pent up energy. Lingering tension throbs throughout my brain. There is a sense of unreality amidst flat feelings, lethargy, and fatigue.
Eventually my psyche absorbs the hurt, enabling me to move on.
After state border closures and COVID lockdowns, a couple of weeks ago we enjoyed a weekend reunion with three longtime friends from Sydney.
My husband relished the process of planning logistics and implementing the three day itinerary. Food, drinks, laughter, reminiscing, and fun buoyed up the Winter weekend.
On Sunday night we all joined Brisbane based friends for dinner in a restaurant and bar converted from a American World War II aircraft hangar.
Following dinner most of us headed southwest on Ann Street from Newstead to Fortitude Valley, stopping off for roof top cocktails at Maya Mexican.
After this, we continued along Ann Street to Fluffy at Cloudland for drag shows and dancing. As can be seen in the picture above the staircase is a perfect feature for performers to access and exit the ground floor stage.
Apart from a minor hiccup with not being able to pay for ferry travel with a credit card, the sojourn in Brisbane was heralded a resounding success.
Other than the 1969 movie of Women in Love starring Glenda Jackson, my knowledge of D.H. Lawrence was virtually non-existent.
To a naive closeted teen, it was shockingly titillating to watch the fire lit nude Oliver Reid and Alan Bates wrestling scene. Especially in a house where sex, intimacy and relationships were never raised let alone discussed.
Inspired by Merchant Ivory’s productions of Maurice and Room with a View, I had spent the 1980s and 1990s devouring and revisiting the writings of E.M.Forster.
Today, 26 June 2022, as I dived into the novel Lady Chatterley’s Lover, 1928, I was pleasantly surprised to find the read enjoyable.
Googling the author, Lawrence, delivers prolific offerings of poems, short stories, travel books, novels, paintings, and non fiction during his short 44 years of life, 1885 to 1930.
This is the last one until I have written significantly more.
Unable to sleep, Altair mulled over the strange evening of hushed conversations, and nervous glances between worried faces. Hannah and a stout lady with a mousey brown bob and oversized glasses, introduced herself as Angela sat in the bay window. A tired drop leaf table between them held steaming mugs of tea.
The woman wrote ceaselessly in a spiral bound lined page notebook with a biro topped by a spring mounted bobbing pig.
Angela wore a beige pleated knee length skirt, American tan tights, olive green acrylic sweater and brown sensible lace ups.
After breakfast, Sax turned the bedrooms upside down, doors and drawers could be heard banging, the beachball was nowhere to be found. He cornered Altair and Cam in the bathroom while they were brushing their teeth. Slamming the door made the panes in the sash window rattle defiantly.
Altair jumped, heart racing, they turned around, fingers of both hands tightly clinging to the edge of the pedestal basin behind them. Altair closed down like a crocus at night, withdrawing into themselves. They knew the tirade would end eventually. Cam hauled himself up onto the toilet lid, head down turned slightly toward the window, smirking.