The THREAD: July 2023

Another month has rolled around, and with it winter school holidays and both my kids’ birthdays. I know they’re getting older (obviously), but I find it interesting that they are now beginning to comment on how quickly time flies by. When they were little, they felt like eons or entire geologic eras passed between one birthday and the next, but now they are experiencing the passage of time in a different, far more adult, way.

Naturally, having teenaged children has the tendency to make me feel considerably older, too. But the thing that brought me up short recently was a conversation I had with a friend while out of a walk in the glorious winter sunshine, and she asked me about holidaying in Hawaii, as she’d never been. I feel very fortunate to have winged my way between Sydney and Honolulu quite a few times during the course of my life, but admit to being aghast when I realised my first Hawaiian vacation took place forty years ago when I was seven years old.

Gulp.

So let’s move on — life may be short, but it’s still for the living. Let’s dive in to the July 2023 THREAD.

THINK | HEAR | READ | EAT | ADMIRE | DO

I’ve been thinking, as I would imagine many people have, about Sinéad O’Connor. While she was best known for Nothing Compares 2 U, as news of her untimely death at the age of 56 has spread around the world, the song I have found myself listening to is I Am Stretched on Your Grave. Based on a translation of an anonymously written 17th century Irish poem, Táim sínte ar do thuama, she recorded the lyrics over the top of a drum beat with very little instrumental accompaniment (save for some fiddle at the end of the piece). You can see her performing it live here, if you’d like — I suspect that is how she would like us to remember her: powerful, passionate, with superb and subtle control of her instrument.

Despite living in the Antipodes, I feel like my generation grew up with a succession of Irish singers who provided the soundtrack to our formative years. Bono is the most obvious of these, and thankfully he is still with us. But I am also thinking specifically of Dolores O’Riordan now, sadly, of Sinéad O’Connor. Knowing that both of these awesome talents have left us saddens me more deeply than I expected it to. I’m also feeling a little downhearted that a whole bunch of kids are probably only discovering today what a incredible talent Sinéad O’Connor was — I hope they also find out how damn brave she was, too.

Rather than dwelling on sadness, however, it’s best that I move onto hearing. Strangely enough, I’ve been listening to another Irish voice, that of Cillian Murphy, who is probably my favourite actor of all time. I listened to a great interview he did with Marc Maron, whose WTF podcast is one I find myself dipping into from time to time with great enjoyment. I have not yet seen Murphy in Oppenheimer, because I want to see it (if possible, should the scheduling stars and planets align) in 70mm as Christopher Nolan intended it to be viewed.

I suspect Oppenheimer is going to be among the most important films of the decade, if not the century, and by all accounts Murphy delivers a truly impressive performance, along with a stellar supporting cast. What is so lovely about Maron’s interview with Murphy, however, is that ranges all over the place — from the various guitars they own, to what it’s like to live in Ireland, to Murphy’s upbringing — and intersperses some heavier material (primarily about the film) with funny anecdotes, including one about Marc Maron meeting Cillian Murphy at an airport and failing to recognise Christopher Nolan, who was sitting right beside him. All in all, it’s an entertaining podcast and I’m looking forward to seeing Oppenheimer as soon as possible.

I have been reading a lot more than usual lately, because school holidays have provided me with the time and space to do so. I have read a couple of thrillers/mysteries, such as Michael Robotham’s Lying Beside You and Sarah Penner’s The Lost Apothecary, and also re-read Raymond E Feist’s fantasy epic The Magician.

More recently, I picked up a copy of Shankari Chandran’s Song of the Sun God at Townsville airport and decided to buy it because the story begins in Ceylon in 1946. After reading The Seven Moons of Mali Almeida, I have been interested in reading other novels set in Sri Lanka, and this multi-generational family saga was compelling and beautifully written despite detailing the horrors of civil war and the challenges of migration. This book felt very alive to me, full of small but significant details that enriched the action. Specific ingredients are added in scenes where food is being prepared, for example, and the ordinariness of these actions only highlights the massive upheaval the family members are dealing with: physical violence, social dislocation, philosophical and religious disputes. Chandran’s descriptions are brief but evocative, deftly weaving together history and emotion and relationships:

The map stretched, inviting and blue across the wall. The world was such a vast place, surely ther ewas somewhere they could go: somewhere they would be safe from riots and growing rage.

I was delighed to learn that this week Shankari Chandran has won the Miles Franklin award for her latest novel, Chai Time at Cinnamon Gardens. I know, having read Song of the Sun God, that the seemingly saccharine title will hide a book of depth that is unafraid to broach difficult topics, and am looking forward to reading it.

The other book I read and loved during the past month was Costanza Casati’s Clytemnestra, which is a retelling of the Greek tragedy from the perspective of one of the greatest figures of the Ancient World. The novel gains a sense of immediacy and accessibility from being written in the present tense: not only do we witness what is happening to Clytemnestra as it occurs, but we are also privy to her thoughts and feelings in those same moments. She becomes far more relateable, and as a result her quest for vengeance seems almost reasonable — even though she takes the lives of those who have betrayed her in brutal fashion. Clytemnestra was a magnifiently drawn character and the novel was a great read.

On to a different type of consumption now: eating. Oh boy…there are two parts to this section of the THREAD this month. First off, there’s the part where we went away on holidays and all the (delicious, amazing, high end restaurant quality) meals were included, so for a week I ate incredibly well but didn’t actually feel hungry again until I got home, so I probably ate too much. OK, let’s be clear. I know I ate too much. But the most extraordinary thing about that holiday was I didn’t have to plan or shop for or cook a meal for an entire week so it was totally WORTH IT!

Now that we’re home, I’m onto the second part. I’ve been working on providing the family with simple, tasty food. It might not be a fancy ceviche, or a differently themed cuisine each lunch time, or martinis by the infinity pool, but at least I’ve created some headspace to get back into eating well and as cleanly as possible. Tonight’s dinner? Swedish meatballs on cauliflower puree with broccoli. Last night? Pesto chicken with tomato and feta risoni and green beans. Tomorrow night? No flipping idea…that is tomorrow’s problem!

Speaking of problems (and freely acknowledging that most of mine are of the First World variety), you may recall a couple of months ago I finally finished watching The Americans. Working out what to follow such a show with was not easy — but I finally settled upon Schitt’s Creek as a palette cleanser, and that hilarious and beautifully executed sitcom well and truly did the trick. Various parts of Rose family parlance have subsequently entered our own family lexicon, and I imagine they will stay there for quite some time.

Since then, I’ve been admiring a few things on the small screen, including Shantaram on Apple+. I was initially hesitant to watch Shantaram, because I was not sure I would be convinced by Charlie Hunnam’s attempt at an Australian accent (and now, having watched it, I would give his efforts a solid B minus). I read Shantaram years ago, but not so recently that I could recall it in vivid detail. The storyline is compelling, not least because it’s based on the author’s real life (and crimes). The slums of Bombay in the 1980s are brilliantly brought to life — even if they were actually filmed in Thailand — though I was not particularly satisfied with the ending.

I then watched The Essex Serpent, starring Tom Hiddleston and Claire Danes, also on Apple+. The Essex Serpent is a period drama with moody visuals and interesting themes (think: science vs religion, women vs the patriarchy, rich vs poor). Both leads were eminently watchable (as always), the Essex coastline was suitably mysterious, and the hysteria generated by the “serpent” believable. I really loved Clémence Poésy as Stella Ransome, the ailing wife of the local vicar, Will Ransome (played by Hiddleston). Strangely enough, however, the ending of this show did not satisfy me either — it felt a little bit too neat. Humpf.

Anyway, that brings me finally to doing, and to our family holiday to the Great Barrier Reef. Despite dramas with planes on the way to and from Queensland (which included missing pilots, missed connections, an unexpected overnight stay in Brisbane on our way home and much gritting of teeth along the way), the vacation itself was spectacular and we were blessed with fine weather, even if it was a little windy at times.

In addition to the incredible food (which I mentioned above) we met some great people, including a lovely family from Switzerland who are currently living in Adelaide for a year. We also had some fantastic experiences: snokelling, hiking, sailing, paddle boarding, kayaking, and puttering around in dighies. One highlight of the trip was feeding fishy kitchen scraps to reef sharks off the resort’s jetty, another was watching glorious sunsets over the sea (which for this Eastcoast dweller is always a bonus). And as a final bonus, we saw some whales from the helicopter when we were transferring back to the mainland.

Anyway, that’s a wrap on the July THREAD.

I’m off to a themed trivia night I’ve been roped into and (no pun intended) have to get into my cow girl costume…fingers crossed we come home with a prize!

Until next time, mind yourselves.

BJx

The THREAD: June 2023

We’ve gone past the shortest day here in the Antipodes! The Winter Solstice is a milestone I mark each year, not least because it means that from this point onwards the days are getting longer again. Admittedly, we still have to get through that small botheration called winter, but nobody has really noticed much of that around here lately because we’ve all been glued to various devices trying to get tickets to see Taylor Swift.

So, keeping with our theme of brevity, let’s jump straight into the June THREAD.

THINK | HEAR | READ | EAT | ADMIRE | DO

I’ve been thinking a lot about equity and fairness during the past week or, perhaps more specifically, since Taylor Swift announced the dates for the Australian leg (such as it is) of her Eras tour. As regular readers of this blog will know, I live with a pair of Swifties — one diehard, one far more nonchalant — so the news that Tay Tay was finally heading Down Under was met with great excitement.

However, as details of concert dates and pre-sales and ticket pricing began to filter through, my cogitations began in earnest. The amount I would have to spend on some of the packages available to attend just one of these highly desirable concerts is equivalent to the amount we would normally spend on a weeklong family holiday. Could I justify the expense? Was it fair of me to tell my children that if I did manage to get tickets, they might not get Christmas and birthday presents this year? Would Marvel Girl even cope if we did not secure this most elusive of bookings?

I’ve been hearing a lot of the same sorts of questions from other parents, and from other people who are fans. The hype surrounding the Eras tour has been phenomenal, and I know that this concert is not simply a “bit of a gig”, but a full blown stadium spectacular choreographed down to the last pyrotechnically enhanced millisecond.

I’m also conscious that, if I did get my hands on Taylor Swift tickets, this would be Marvel Girl and Miss Malaprop’s first proper concert (because at this point I’m not counting the Babies Proms at the Sydney Opera House folks…that ship sailed so long ago it’s halfway to Haiti by now). I’m also acutely, painfully aware that — thanks to a global pandemic and a bunch of lockdowns — my kids have missed out on unforgettable experiences like this.

So, like so many others, I started reading all the fine print. And the presale information. And began setting alarms and checking login details and updating passwords and acquiring ticketing codes and taking a long hard look at my bank balance. I also started reading Curtis Sittenfeld’s new book Romantic Comedy, and had been perusing a bunch of travel guides (dreaming of a European vacation before the girls get to the pointy end of high school), but all these had to be put on the back burner. Tay Tay was coming to town, and I had to be ready.

It was around this point that the stress eating began. I can safely say that I have eaten more chocolate in the past week than I ever ate at Easter time.

I may also, equally sadly, have fallen into the trap of eating cheese and drinking wine. So much so that The Bloke — who, by now, had joined the feeding frenzy — went to the trouble of finding Tim Minchin’s hilarious song about cheese on Spotify or YouTube or some other thing and began playing it for me in a very misguided show of what he called ‘support’. I think it’s fair to say that Minchin’s lyrics about him loving cheese but cheese not loving him did apply, but it was not The Bloke’s finest moment?!

As things turned out, however, it did become one of Miss Malaprop’s finest moments, one that I am still admiring. The first presale came and went with a giant crash (brought to you by American Express), and despite frantic — and might I also say valiant — efforts on my part to navigate some sort of safe passage through the maze of the interwebs to ticket ownership, I came up empty handed. By some small miracle, one of The Bloke’s staff got wind of what we were up to (perhaps because there were several fraught phonecalls to his office as we kept him apprised of our lack of success), and she managed to find her way onto the presale site…but the best she could come up with was a pair of tickets (at a whopping $900 each), and I was determined that both my girls would be coming with me to the show or none of us would go at all.

It was at this point that Miss Malaprop, bless her cotton socks, piped up that if we could only get two tickets we should nab them and that I should take Marvel Girl, superfan as she is of Ms Swift. Her generosity and selflessness caught me off guard, and made me even more determined to get her a ticket as well…if that was humanly possible?!

Which brings us, of course to doing. By the time the next presale rolled around (OK, it was only two days later but I can tell you the hours drag until the event begins), we were ready. We were SO ready. Three laptops and three phones were logged on and ready to enter the Ticketek lounge — home of the infamous blue bar of doom (if you were there you know what it is I speak of) — and after 10:00am the minutes, which had so recently felt like they were lagging by, suddenly began to fly past as I knew there were tickets flying into people’s online shopping carts faster than you could say …Ready For It.

And then, about twenty adrenaline-filled minutes in, The Bloke called. It turned out that half the staff in his office, upon hearing of our plight (first world problem as it absolutely is), had registered for presale codes and were all trying to get us tickets as well. And — wait for it — the same staff member who had got through to the elusive Amex presale had been miraculously plucked from the Ticketek lounge (which we are all now aware is anything but a queue), deposited on the hallowed seat selection page and beaten the famous clock to secure us a trio of tickets for Taylor Swift’s opening night in Sydney.

We were gobsmacked. Celebratory. Relieved. Grateful. Even a little bit tearful, in Marvel Girl’s case. Miss Malaprop was practically turning cartwheels and the cat, never one to be left out, got the zoomies and began racing up and down the stairs.

I still can’t quite believe our luck, not to mention the generosity of The Bloke’s staff. But that’s good people for you — they chip in and help make the impossible somehow, unexpectedly, brilliantly possible.

We’re going to Taylor Swift.

And until a Taylor’s version is released, that’s a wrap on the June THREAD.

I’m officially exhausted.

Mind yourselves,

BJx