Ekka As Usual

After the ride stopped and we were released, we continued around shedding money like dandruff. Laughing clowns, log flumes, dagwood dogs, etc, before we retired to see some animals.

As usual the chick patting and animal petting were popular, and we visited the cowsheds wondering if the daughters would start to ask awkward questions about the bullocks'.... addendums.

The weather began to close in a little as we broke for lunch (lunch! ha!) but we laughed in its face and went for round two of chicken and animal patting before leaving as darkness fell.

We went back via the food hall, where we were to pick up some strawberries and marshmallows, on a stick, innit, when we suddenly noticed Eloise's disappearance.

A dog-whistle soon brought her back though. Good that she knows how to come back when called.

Fairground Contraption

So it's Ekkatime again.

This year, we went along with some other folks, and the extra adults enabled us to visit Sideshow Alley and the worryingly gravity-defying machines of fear without merely looking.

Eloise, now tall enough to go on the little roller-coaster, was keen to do so, and I went on there with her.

It was only a tiddler, and pretty lame by comparision with some of the other catapults of doom, so I was pretty confident.

But it must be ten years since I went on my last one (I can't even remember it) so when the inevitable chasm of freefall opened beneath us, yes, I squealed like a baby along with the others in our little spinny tea-pot.

Sam, one of our companions, was determined that we should sample the joys of one of the Mangonels of Mirth and we reluctantly acceded. She chose one for us which was like a counterweighted industrial catapult with a centrifugal pin wheel on one end which in turn had three arms upon which were mounted the seats of torture.

As we were strapped into our seats Nicole and I looked at one another as if to say -well, this is a bad idea, but it's too late to turn back now... and as the motors kicked in and we started moving I began to express my predicament colourfully.

I remember a moment when we were hanging upside down fifty metres up in the air, looking up/down at the carpark with the tiny figures beneath us, and experiencing a moment of clarity where any doubts about the mechanical integrity of this ludicrous machine that we had actually parted with money to be strapped to disappeared and the only sensible thing to do was to just enjoy it. Or endure it.

And as the wind started and my cheeks were pulled back past my ears and my legs clung on for dear life and my arms decided they should really be somewhere else and the carpark approached mercilessly and inexorably I just groaned.

I, Mac

Grandma Shirley and Grandad Brendan sent Eloise a nice mac.

Eloise wore it to school. I told her she needed to take it off while she was in class. I have it on good authority that as soon as my back was turned, it went back on.

We went to yoga. We had things to do so we left her there. I told her she shouldn't do yoga in it. I have it on good authority that as soon as our backs were turned it went straight back on again.

So, all in all, a success.

Air

And then it was time for us to go home, and escape Sydney's freezing climes to the subtropical comfort blanket of sunny Queensland, school and normality.

Eloise finished off her ant-ear-popping sweets before we took off, but to be honest I don't think aeroplanes pop your ears the way they used to.

Acrobatics

I awoke with a blistering headache, the kind you get from inhaling paint and varnish fumes and lack of coffee.

I sought to alleviate these symptoms at root cause by removing myself from the house and its attendant miasmas and heading down to the coffee shop, which I hoped would be at the bottom of the street.

There was also the small issue that I had no idea how to work the coffee machine.

The walk and coffee probably would have helped, and did a bit, but I thought it prudent to topup with a painkiller, and eventually this sorted things out.

In the meantime there was fun to be had by children, and who are we to stand in the way of that, so we headed off to the playground where Jarrah got on his scooter and repeatedly won "The Piston Cup," regardless of his actual position in any race.

Eloise combated his scooter advantage by outdoing him at climbing.

Sydney Skyline

I trained it down to Circular Quay then walked up by the Opera House and round the bay to Mrs Macquarrie's Chair.

There's no chair. Is there a chair? I didn't see a chair.

There's a Botanical Garden, and the city right next to it.

I was back in time for tea.

Newtown

So by hook or by crook or by asking some passers-by, we established the road that we were looking for, a whole ten feet from where we were asking, and headed up to take the load off our feet.

Julie and Gary had just that day moved back into their house after extending it upwards so the place was redolent with the fragrance of new carpets, paint and varnish and the chaos of moving-in stuff like boxes and nonsense.

Gary and Jarrah had a pre-existing date with the Newtown Jets so we tagged along to watch the Footie (as they call the Rugby here). Eloise met a boy, only a day younger than her. I think there was chemistry.

The Oval where we went was well-drained and children played around the periphery as the game was played on the field. At half-time everyone piled onto the field for a kick-around. Every score heralded a different version of the Team Song over the tannoy and some guy on a penny farthing tanking around the field with a big flag and a high-five for everybody.

Back at the pad, Nicole pitched up eventually and after dinner Eloise read a story to the kids before going to bed.

The next day was Sunday so we went to the Park, partially flooded, and generally knocked around doing not an awful lot.

Later I took myself into the city to do some photos. Quiet.

The Luggage

After gorging ourselves in the pub that night, we retired for our last night in the apartment.

For tomorrow we were going down to Newtown to see Julie and Gary and their sproglets Jarrah and Geneve.

This left us with some interesting conundrums logistically, around luggage.

We weren't due in Newtown until the afternoon, and checkout time was 10.00am. So the luggage had to be left at the hotel while we went seeking breakfast and presents.

We didn't have a particular idea of where we were going, so we thought we'd go the the coffee shop we'd ridden out the rain in for a spot of breakfast.

No ponchos today, the sun was actually coming out!

No breakfast either though, the coffee shop was closed.

So we struck off in a random direction and ended up at a place called Paddy's Market where we managed to kill all birds with one stone.

Downstairs, covered industrial markets, more stalls than you could shake a stick at, presents sorted.

Upstairs, shopping centre, food court, breakfast procured.

Rather than walk all the way home, Eloise suggested that she'd been promised a ride on the monorail, and so it came to pass that we rode the monorail around Darling Harbour, across the Pyrmont Bridge and back to the Convention Centre.

Baggage reclaimed, we headed off to find a train. On foot.

Which in retrospect was a miserly move which may have been counterproductive, as there were many bags, and not many feet, and some distance to go to the nearest station.

So somewhat tired as we got our tickets and traveled to our platform, to find it closed.

And increasingly confused as we struggled to work out where we needed to be to get to Central Station where we would change trains.

But got there eventually we did, then further confusion with platforms there, which were closed also, except Central has literally tens of platforms, so slightly more challenging. And Eloise lost her ticket. Hmmm.

Eventually we got out to Newtown and started tramping down King Street in the general direction of Julie and Gary's house.

I knew I should have written down their address.

Powerhouse

Shaking off the ennui of the inclement outdoors, and spying a break in the weather, we donned our larcenous ponchos like the fashion criminals we were and headed off to the nearest Museum available, the Sydney Powerhouse, a mere five-minute trudge away.

Around about the time we/I realised that we/I had taken a wrong turn to land us on the salubrious forecourt of the Ian Thorpe Aquatic Centre, the heavens opened with some seriousness. Ascending some stairs which were in danger of becoming waterfalls, we spotted a coffee shop in which we ate cake and drank refreshments whilst awaiting the abatement of the downpour.

Downpour completed, we made our way onwards past the other side of the Thorpedo's Pool to the Museum, where after a little fuss we were able to book in our ponchos to the cloakroom and proceed into the Powerhouse.

We cruised around in there for a good few hours, exploring the cavernous spaces filled with steam trains, aeroplanes, spaceships and huge machines.

Eloise took it upon herself to draw a picture, so I turned my back for five minutes to look at a nearby exhibit, and she legged it.

A nice Museum lady brought her back. Non-panic over.

Later, in the space-ship hall, she legged it again, and the same lady brought her back again.

Later still, near the Interactive Playground of Electronic Amazement, she hoofed it once more, and the same lady reunited us once more.

Later still, we saw our lady and she just gave the urchin a look that said "No running away, you."

Heart of Dampness

Our apartment (in Strine they call it a Unit) overlooked a wonderfully pictorious motorway. On the other side of the motorway was a railway. On the other side of the railway was the Convention Centre, Nicole's base of operations.

Luckily there was a covered walkway which ran from the hotel directly to the Convention Centre, ensuring relatively dry transit.