Hot Hot Hot!!!

Tonight, at least, I have a reasonable excuse for not being asleep at 2.39am it is HOT - 26 degrees Celsius in fact according to the weather website.  Half of Queensland (those without air conditioning anyway) must also be awake probably tossing and turning and cursing every so often.

How typical is it that, on the day before the hottest day of the summer so far, the air conditioning starts blowing only hot air out and not the icy cold that keeps me sane?

Ironically I am one of those Kiwi's who, when asked how I cope with the heat, says 'Oh the heat doesn't bother me, I love the heat' when what I should really say is 'I look forward to 30 degree days with no humidity and a light breeze' so all Aussies can smirk at my naievity.

One thing heard and said by many a wannabe Aussie contemplating a permanent move across the Tasman is 'it's a different kind of heat over there', well all I can say is Hot is Hot and if you have difficulty coping with the rare 28 to 30 degree day of a New Zealand summer then you've got no show of enjoying the 34 degree plus days of an Australian summer.  

Some hot days are easier to cope with than others, I agree, for example, my husband (less crazy than myself but also less sensible) spent one 42 degree day chain sawing logs on our rural property (an hour south-west of Brisbane) during our first inhabitation of Australia and coped quite alright because there was far less humidity that far from the coast.  Admittedly he did dive into the pool clothes and all when he'd had enough.

On a positive note, it is actually warm enough for me to swim at the moment, I've even contemplated moving into the pool area on a more permanent basis these last few days.  I can't remember submerging in anything other than a hot pool in NZ since I was a wayward teenager, when it was more important that my bikini looked fabulous than how many goose bumps covered my body.  Hot pools, as in swimming pools heated until steam rises, are one of the few things still unique to New Zealand, as far as I'm aware.

I do feel for the tradies (that's trades people or blue collar workers for you Kiwis), the builders, road workers etc who don't have a choice but to be out in the heat all day.  My tradie at least has an air-conditioned lunch room and a swimming pool at the workshop to escape to.

I also feel for the mother's with grumpy and bored children, I'm sure there are plenty thanking God for movie theatres, ice skating rinks, bowling alleys and shopping malls during these school holidays - some shopping centres are so big that you can easily waste a day there revelling in the modern wonder of air conditioning and still not get around all of the toy aisles in every chain store. 

Now don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure I would still far rather cope with an Aussie summer than a New Zealand winter as long as I have the necessary survival tools on hand, that being a working and large air conditioning unit, a large unoccupied swimming pool, ice cold water, a large hat, sunnies and the all important cabana boy to lather sunscreen on my back - just kidding, I must be heading for dream land again.

Until next time......

The green, green grass of home.

Every few weeks or so I find myself craving some green, green grass and I'm not talking about Te Puke Thunder either (you Aussie's can google that).  Real green, not insipid khaki, brown-yellow green grass, but lush, juicy, sweet smelling, good enough to eat, Emerald green grass.  I miss seeing paddocks of Fresian's drunk on the juiciness of it  (New Zealand farmer's don't like to move outside of the square when it comes to their cows, it's Fresian all the way with the odd Jersey or two thrown in to pretty up the herd), I miss the feel of it, the smell of it, the knowledge that there is nothing more scary than a giant earthworm slithering around amongst the shoots.
Sometimes I imagine myself running through fields of the stuff, under a cloudless, bright blue sky (it is my imagination so I can omit the clouds), with a light breeze tousling my hair, skirts hitched up to my knees and Michael Langdon at the front door of our log cabin waiting to greet me - no wait - I think I'm confusing my imagination with a TV programme from many moons ago.
Ok so the reality is I imagine flinging myself full-length on the lawn and smooshing my nose along the ground, just like my poodle did as soon as he could escape from the bathtub, blissfully ignoring the horrified stares of onlookers as I drink in the smell, feel and taste of real, green New Zealand grass, before gracefully returning to my feet, brushing a couple of wrinkles from my spotless white dress and getting rid of the leaves in my hair with a practised toss of my luscious locks.  Of course in reality I would emerge from this drunken-like stupor covered in mud from the recent rain, with prickles embedded in my nose and a number of neighbours wondering if they should call 111 to report an escaped psych patient.
And it's not just the grass I miss, it's the things that go along with it; grass stains are not a common sight on the knees of youngsters over here, the ground is too hard to fall on without breaking a bone for one thing, and, more than a few seconds spent out on the lawn will in all likeliness result in a bull ant attaching itself to your behind, for another.  I miss hours spent under the sprinkler in the middle of summer and waterslides covered in Sunlight dishwashing liquid.  I miss sitting under a tree with soft grass cushioning my precious hiney and not a bull ant, green ant, red ant, yellow ant or bloody rainbow-coloured ant in sight and it just doesn't feel like summer until you've had a foot full of Onehunga prickles to extract.
Ahhhhhhh the green, green grass of home, I think I might try to grow some lawn in a planter box to tide me over until my next New Zealand holiday.

Until next time..............

What to bring when you don't need to bring a thing.

I think my last post is proof enough not to blog without at least a couple of hours sleep first, let's see if I can improve with this one.  I think it's time to write about something that may be of use to those Kiwis actually thinking about heading over here to live - what to bring with you.

If you are young, single and still sleeping on God Knows Who's couch of a Friday and Saturday night, then I would say bring yourself, a bank account containing as much money as you can muster from selling everything you own, your paragraph long C.V (that stands for Curriculum Vitae) and a 'life doesn't get better than this' attitude.  Leave a box of 'treasures' with the oldies, to be couriered if you haven't returned with your tail between you legs within 5 years or so. 

If you said 'see ya later' to God Knows Who and his couch a while back and have realised that nothing beats coming home to your own bed after a night on the town or better yet God Knows Who's bed has now also become your bed, you're living in domestic bliss and are ready for the two of you to take a giant leap into the unknown together before the stork visits, then I'd say bring yourselves, a suitcase or two of your best 'can't live without' shoes and handbags, a somewhat healthier bank account, you're by now page or two long C.V, and a 'life doesn't get better than this' attitude.  Leave two or three boxes of 'treasures' with the oldies, to be couriered if you haven't returned within 10 years, having made a small fortune working your butt off in Oz but deciding NZ is the place to raise a family.

If God Knows Who and his couch are a hazy memory, one you can only wish you had the energy to revisit after being up all night with a child that won't sleep before the other child is up wanting their breakfast and a game of twister, you wonder if there's more to life and wish you'd gone on that big O.E before meeting Mr Right and delivering his offspring, then you might need a bit more planning and a few more boxes but it's do-able and probably easier than you think.  You will most likely want to pack a hundred or so boxes of 'treasures' and bring them with you along with a 'life doesn't get better than this' attitude.
The first time we made the move across the Tasman we brought with us almost everything we had collected and deemed essential over two 30 year, one 7 year and one not-yet-a-year life-spans, an exercise we regretted somewhat after arriving for a couple of reasons.   The container ship carrying our 172 cartons of 'necessities' takes an extraordinarily long time to sail the 2000-odd kilometres from New Zealand to Australia, up to 8 or so weeks in fact, it is amazing what no longer becomes necessary to life in that amount of time (whatever is necessary has to be purchased to allow for life to continue until the 'real' necessities arrive).  Once we had arrived and had a chance to look around we realised household items were so inexpensive to buy new here that we would have been better off to pay less in moving costs, sell as much as we could live without on Trade-me and start over.  Of course you can't expect the children to give up their toys or the wife to give up her shoes and handbags but anything without emotional attachment can become someone else's 'treasure'.  After moving house 7 times in the last 7 years there's not a heck of a lot I'm emotionally attached to any more, the husband even looks at me twice when deciding what to pack.
The second time crossing the ditch we knew what we were doing and managed to whittle down the boxes to a mere 130, still while unpacking you come across things that make you wonder exactly what attachment one forms to the lid of a plastic container you haven't seen for a good 10 years.
I would strongly suggest employing an experienced moving company to pack up your entire house, well your belongings anyway, the house might be too heavy to lift, and transport it to your new address.  We have used Crown movers once and Allied Pickfords twice both were okay but I would personally choose Allied Pickfords if we ever lose our minds and decide to do it all again.
My eyelids are finally drooping so until next time ............