My mother’s voice and the pierce of Dad’s whistle are what I remember. Singing old Australian bush songs with Dad out in the car, songs that I will teach to my own children decades later. Hearing my kids singing Camptown Races, The Long Long Trail and The Road to Gundagai shows the importance of the continuity of the small things and the passing down of memories from one generation to the next. Continue reading “Soundtracks of our lives”
The Irish bar I’m in smells of cauliflower cheese and I’m about to start watching the Super Bowl in New York City. Continue reading “A hint of cauliflower cheese, a cat and a Melbourne demon ( A sports report)”
We all have that special someone in our lives. Our partners, our children, our friends, and our pets. But for me, there is no more special person than my hairdresser. Continue reading “The hands of the hairdresser”
The death knell of the holiday begins as the taxi from the airport takes the exit ramp on to Bell street.