Sydney Rocks
After experiencing the daylight robbery of hotels in Adelaide and Kangaroo Island, I have found a hotel that does not rip you off for internet services in Australia. Stand up the excellent Shangri La in Sydney. Situated in the Rocks area and spectacularly overlooking the iconic Opera House and the Sydney Harbour Bridge, I reckon I can do all my sightseeing from my room or from the 36th floor bar and restaurant.
Arriving last evening from Ayers Rock, we just had time for a recce with old pal Larry Smith who took us to several Australian bars as a kind of initiation ceremony, but exhausted after getting up at 3.30 am for the tour up the “dull rock” as Rachael “Lady In Waiting” Surtees describes Uluru, or Ayers Rock, we retired to bed reasonably early. 11.30 is reasonable, right? When I told Larry I had been to Adelaide he said it was full of churches and child molesters, which seems a little harsh. I think the Australians resent the fact that Adelaide was settled rather than having the reputation of a former penal colony like much of the country.
Sydney opera House
You have to do the sightseeing favourites when in Sydney, so, the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House (pictured today) have to be visited, and were, and the Manly Ferry has to be experienced, as does the pretty seaside town of Manly with its surfing beach. Lunch was taken at The Pantry on the edge of the sea and was quite lovely, unlike the weather which is a trifle cloudy and not very warm, a recipe to induce less than happy-bunny behaviour from that Nice Lady Decorator. To be fair, I had promised her warm sunshine and so far, we have not had as much as I had hoped, and of course, it is all my fault. As I write I am conjuring up the sun gods for tomorrow.
Last evening we took to The Australian Pub in the Rocks area, close to our hotel for a warm up before meeting up with a number of South Of France renegades in the form of Joe, and child bride Debs, Chadwick and the aforementioned Mr Smith and the lovely Marika at a Thai restaurant, much vaunted in Sydney; The Sailor. The Reverend Jeff will no doubt be expecting me to make jokes about sailors being Thaied to masts and the like, but nothing could be further from the truth. Both couples once resided close to Valbonne and so the opportunity to meet up with them in their home town was too much to miss. Joe was born in Yorkshire before moving to australai when he was young, but he retains those Yoorkshire characteristics so there was no chance of his paying, but that did not stop me suggesting that if he were ever to visit me in England then I would be happy to buy dinner for him. I do like a bit of pressure, but that Yorkshire skin is thick. I knew they would be long-term friends when we first met them at a Mougins School barbecue up in the hills above Chateauneuf de Grasse. Debs was carrying an open bottle of champagne and offering a glass to anyone she met. She is my kind of girl.
Despite a hectic schedule in Sydney over the next few days, we will endeavour to make room for some beach time, before the prospect of returning to cold and wet Britain hoves into view in a few days time. having said that, that, we have been witnessing bizarre sights of Christmas parties taking place over here, with reindeer hats, tinsel and Christmas trees, which is all very bizarre with the temperature in the 20’s centigrade. Perhaps it will be good to be in England for Christmas.
Chris France
Outback over
Thousands of miles into the outback to see the magical change of colour of Ayers Rock was reduced to a farce as clouds moved in and obscured the sun before sunset. This is not what I saw in the brochure. Without a sunset Uluru is reduced to a rather uninteresting rock in a desert. I have seen more impressive hills in the South Downs.
Dinner under the stars was at best adequate. Poor canopies were, in part, a kind of bush tucker trial, with unappetising pieces of tough kangaroo and crocodile mounted on stale tasteless bases, being spread around the unfortunates who had signed up, followed by a mass catered meal in the desert. The star-gazing was good, but with the cloud hampering viewing, the guide just about got away with it. Had it remained cloudy, I suspect I would have been asking for a refund.
I am totally fed up with being ripped off wherever I go in Australia, and The Ayers Rock resort does this better than anywhere else. It is a master class in combining charging ridiculous prices whilst providing a terrible service. Internet access at $10 an hour (about £7 at today’s Currencies Direct exchange rates) was so poor one could not upload a photo, however there is a special treat today; the photo that should have appeared yesterday.
That Nice Lady Decorator gives the bird to the birds
So I was in a great mood when the alarm clock went off just before 4am. We were off to see the same bit of dull rock at sunrise. After hauling myself out of bed, there was a moment when it looked quite impressive but then the sun was obscured behind some clouds and it became a dull rock again. 5 hours was too long for the Sunrise Tour, made even longer by the long drawn out commentary from our driver who seemed to have overdosed on Valium. He would have made James May from Top Gear seem animated.
Leaving Ayers Rock we headed to the airport for the third flight in two days, this time to Sydney and the Shangri-La hotel in the Rocks area, where we will be staying for the next few days before the long trip home. That Nice Lady Decorator is looking forward to this last leg as she has found Adelaide, stuck in the early 70’s and Kangaroo Island stuck in the 50’s not to her taste. She is hoping for something a little more up to date in Sydney, and with friends we met in Valbonne now living there, the expectation of the inside track locally is high. As a taster we have a pre arranged meeting with Larry Smith, a man who likes a drink, this evening. Larry is the man I was with when I lost a shoe at a hotel room on London. It was warm (mid summer, but still a shock) and the sash window on the crap hotel he had chosen would not stay open. I decided to jam my shoe in the window to keep it open and everything was fine, until the shoe dropped out onto an inaccessible inner courtyard in the middle of the night. With no other shoes to wear, I had to get it back. After much deliberation it was decided that by using two knotted sheets and a chair, I could get down low enough to retrieve my footwear. Success was only achieved by leaving the chair two floors below on that terrace. We checked out early before a the hotel management noticed, and charged us big time, Australian style . Should be a quiet evening.
Chris France
You cannot trust birds
Two flights from Adelaide, the first to Alice Springs. and then on to Ayers Rock were quite tiring, especially after arriving late the evening before into Adelaide from Shutter, I mean Kangaroo Island. It was not just due to our late arrival that we were tired, oh no. A contributory factor to our lack of sleep was that we all fancied a beer after we arrived some time after 10pm, and thereafter ended up with a kebab. In addition, it was not just the kebab, it was the hot chilli sauce with which we all insisted on smothering them that may have made sleep more difficult.
So with just a couple of beers in the airport at Alice Springs before the short hop over to Ayers Rock, and the opportunity to watch the sun go down over this aboriginal holy place, we discussed the itinerary for the rest of the trip. I was told we had dinner under the stars. Thereafter, I thought, a lie-in before heading off to Sydney tomorrow. That is what I had planned, until out self-appointed tour guide and Currencies Direct client, John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees revealed that we were also booked for the dawn climb up Uhuru, as the aborigines call Ayers Rock.
“You mean that we are going to stay out in the desert eating and drinking until after midnight, and then, in your planning wisdom, get up at 3.30am to walk up a mountain we have already seen, I joked? Once again, I misread that Chuckle Brother’s poker face. My laughter turned at first to bemused disbelief and then to incredulity. As the reality of the tour itinerary sunk in, I grasped at straws; “Why don’t we just stay out in the desert and walk up the mountain straight after dinner? It would save us actually booking into the Desert Gardens hotel at enormous expense?”
He was unmoved and so, as you read this, I could be either enjoying a nice Shiraz, watching the southern sky with a nice cigar, or, slogging up a hill in the dark, after little or no sleep, due to that Chuckle Brothers cretin who claims to be friend of mine.
It seems we are booked in to a dinner in the desert called “Sounds of Silence” which sounds a little noisy for me. This is clearly an oxymoron. Why should I pay for silence (although a braver man than I might night consider the advantages of such a concept for a nano second, before being forcibly reminded of the advantages of listening to his wife) when in normal circumstances I can engineer things to make sure I get it for free? An unguarded comment misinterpreted by that Nice Lady Decorator (pictured today being given the bird at Paul’s Place on Kangaroo Island) can be just as effective and considerably cheaper.
At this point, I must draw attention to the voluptuous and beautiful wife of Mr Chuckle, namely the comely Rachael. That Nice Lady Decorator was once misguided enough to live in carnal bliss with Chuckle himself before seeing the light, and it has always bugged me that he has “knowledge” of both women on tour, whereas I have only a 50% of his knowledge. As you would imagine, it is something that I bring up from time to time, and this was the case at one of the airports yesterday. During that conversation (in searing 35 degree heat whilst listening to Bing Crosby pay his annual respects to “White Christmas” over the airport PA system) I mentioned that I do not yet have an epithet for Rachel. She said she has thought about it and suggested Rachel “Lady in Waiting”. Surtees, which is fine by me. She has heard my expression “squaring the circle” referring to the imbalance to which I refer above. However, whereas I have referred to the correction of this imbalance in these terms, she said it was “squaring the hole” but that was after 4 pints of Carlton draught at Alice Springs airport, so I forgive her. With those breasts I will always forgive her anything ( sorry Lin).
Chris France
Fair Dinkum?
The advice from the Lancastrian renegade bar man at the Penneshaw Hotel was that the capital of Kangaroo Island, Kingscote, was like Bradford. This was likely to be as far from the truth as his claim that the food in his pub was the best on Kangaroo Island, as every other meal we have had on the Island has been superior. Anyway, we set off with the air of great explorers, battling towards the edge of civilisation.
Before setting off, we thought we should try out the breakfast at our hotel, the Waterfront, and hustled down at 8.45, only to be told that they had let the chef go because they only had 4 people staying. I drew myself up to my full height and in what I thought was an irresistibly commanding manner said “But you advertise breakfast until 9. Summon the chef again, I am hungry and ready to eat”. You will be astonished to learn, as I did, that my imperious tone was ineffective. Australian economics were to the fore; the obvious commercial strategy for anyone with half a commercial brain would be to look after the few customers you have otherwise you will get fewer. The idea that you reduce the range of facilities available when there are less customers is, of course, ridiculous. I would certainly not bother with the place again. The logic of closing up and sending customers away because you don’t have enough customers is the financial logic of the madhouse.
Much the opposite was true of wildlife farmstead Paul’s Place, where for Az$15 (some £10 at today’s exchange rates) you were able to feed the animals, including kangaroos, wallabies, emus and various other wildlife. Yes, you paid for their food. This makes much more commercial sense. The fact that Paul himself was covered in animal detritus of the most aromatic kind did not detract from the attraction of seeing all these local critters close up, including the koalas, for which we had searched for some 3 hours in the wild the day before. That Nice Lady Decorator was able to cuddle a koala. It has no idea how lucky it was.
Quality at prices one can still not afford
Kingscote, the capital of Kangaroo Island, was like Whitby after a nuclear attack. No one there and no one wanting to be there. Seldom have I encountered a less exhilarating place, although I was able to get this picture of one of their most upmarket stores offering cheap goods. A seaside town with shops stuck rigidly on the 1970’s in unseasonably cool weather probably did not help the cause, so we drove to Stokes Bay, which was totally different. An unpromising rocky beach masked a lovely sandy beach reached by a trail through giant rocks, which we found after an excellent lunch at the surprisingly quiet Rock Pool Cafe. Garlic prawns of the highest order. As we had been told with total conviction by the owner of the only pub in Penneshaw that his was the best restaurant on the island, it was quite a shock. Perhaps he meant worst?
Regular readers of this column will know the identity of the man who lives near Valbonne who has recently released his book “The Autobiography of A Somebody”. It is now available on Amazon and Kindle. He has feature on numerous occasions in this column, where I have mercilessly pilloried him. He is kind enough to dedicate the book to me for giving him the inspiration to write it, clearly of the opinion he can do better. What is clever about his marketing campaign is that he does not identify himself, and I have already seen it on some shelves in book shops in the “Best seller” Lists, but how can that be? Check it out.
Chris France
Kangaroo Island
It was an altogether better start to the day. I was able to sleep in after an early night and this time I did not wash my hair in hand cream. The bottles in the hotel bathroom all look the same to me without my glasses but the results, hair that looked like a wig, were undeniable.
Remarkable Rocks, yes, that is its name
Kangaroo or Shutter Island?
Our tour guide John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees has done it again. As the dinner for the closing of the Golden Oldies cricket festival was drawing to its conclusion at the Adelaide Convention Centre on Saturday night, I asked, in Barossa-Valley, wine-induced hubris, what time the bus left the hotel the next day for our three-day excursion to Kangaroo Island. “6.10” he said; “At least that gives us a chance to have a lie in and a leisurely lunch” I replied. “6.10 am” he said in that poker-faced manner then I have come wholeheartedly to distrust. I knew he must be joking as it was a little after 1 am when I posed the question. He was serious. Thus we were ejected from the over-priced money-grabbing Sebel Playford hotel and poured, at am impossibly early hour, into a very uncomfortable bus for the 2 hour trip to Port Jervis to catch the ferry over to Kangaroo Island.
The picture yesterday in this column of Hanging Judge John Judge-Mental passing sentence at the Teesside (kangaroo) Crown Court, sitting in Adelaide, the night before caused some consternation in the comments section of this column. One chap was concerned that the tie being sported by the Judge may have been an Old Carthusian, which in his opinion was a very serious and indictable defence. I have put this to the judge and am awaiting his plea.
We arrived on the island at 10 am and searching in vain for our hire car, the second foul up from our travel agents, the very inefficient Auztravel, who had failed to have the pre paid car ready for us at Adelaide airport last week. Eventually we found the vehicle, with a different car hire company from the one quoted and set off to take in the local market which was taking place close to the ferry port, and from where I took this picture of some very useful headgear.
Shutter Island inhabitant keeps the sun off
Nobody told us it could be cold in Australia, so whilst the locals were all kitted out in sweater and shirts, we were a little out-of-place in short-sleeved shirts and shorts. It warmed up a little as we visited a charming winery located in a hangar with its own airstrip for light aircraft, where we tasted some of their wines including “Happiness”, and which, after the morning we had endured, was close to what we needed. They served an excellent lunch of cold meats, quiche, marinated vegetables, olives and mushrooms, over which, for some reason, John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees revealed that his first car was a pink Hilman Imp. I know that, had the judge been aware of that fact on Saturday night, then, in addition to the charge of dangerously running out a disabled team-mate, John would have been charged with owning a lurid car in a built up area. The fact that it was pink should, in my opinion, double the sentence.
On the way back to the quaint Seafront Hotel, we popped into the rather alarmingly name winery called “Dudley”. Despite its name it had the most stunning views, which in some way mitigated it’s rather poor wine output and appalling Midlands connotated name.
Bizarrely, when picking up the hire car, we were told that car insurance does not extend after 8pm, that the restaurants all stop serving food at the same time and that to go out after that time risked being savaged by wild animals. I know that I was looking for an early night and it was that Nice Lady Decorator who hit the nail on the head; Shutter Island (as opposed to Fraser Island in Queensland, which refers to the place to which where all the fans of Frazer Hines are eventually committed. I believe I shall end up there myself). no space today for a reference to Currencies Direct, perhaps tomorrow.
Chris France
Kangaroo court in session
The Teesside (kangaroo) Crown Court sat in Adelaide last night with Hanging Judge John Judge-Mental in the chair at the Sebel Playford hotel. A range of indictments were read out by the Judge and punishment handed down to members of the Nidderdale Taverners Cricket team the form of fines donated to the Lords Taverners charity. Every member of the team was arraigned to appear before the court at 5.3o pm before the closing night dinner and entertainment for the Golden Oldies cricket tournament at the Adelaide Convention Centre.
The charges were varied and inventive, although I cannot be sure that all were properly constituted in either British or Australian law. These were the culmination of offences committed during the week of the Golden Oldies cricket festival. It is fair to say that nobody escaped the wrath of our very own Hanging Judge, who in the summons to appear before him, warned that anyone failing to attend WOULD be found guilty in their absence. Frankly, being there was academic to the court’s decision, and all were found guilty.
Attired in his gown and wig, as my picture of him pre-trial in his chambers yesterday illustrates, summary injustice was meted out to every member of the team with Frazer Hines, Sir Thomas Ingilby and Clem “always wrong” Chambers receiving the roughest treatment. I am not certain that the Judge retained a great deal of credibility with the attendant throng, as beneath his wig and gown I contend that he was wearing nothing except a pink creation of uncertain pedigree, but he took to his appointed task with gusto and fleeced the team to within an inch of their financial lives, extracting a great deal of money for good causes.
Frazer Hines was charged with “wantonly, aggressively, continually and repeatedly sponsoring a long forgotten and prescribed society, contrary to section 4b of the Imbeciles and Idiots act 1923, (also known as Frazer’s Law), namely the Frazer Hines Fan Club”. I could not be certain as it was hard to hear but I believe that Sir Thomas was charged and convicted of being in charge of a castle.
The fines structure was interestingly means tested. Following the model of Council Tax in the UK, which is banded depending upon the value of your property, the highest fines were reserved for band A offenders. This applied to owners of castles and residents of Monaco. This at least alleviated the pressure on dear Frazer, who was sharing a room with John “I was never in the Moody Blues” Lodge. This resulted in the two of them being jointly charged with wilfully and illegally establishing an illicit old people’s care home in room 217 of the Sebel Playford Hotel, contrary to the Old Peoples Care Act 1947 (sometime after they were both born). I have a picture of the Judge in his chambers in (nearly) full regalia from earlier in the afternoon.
Hanging judge John Judge-Mental preparing to abuse due process
Earlier in the day, I had the opportunity to find out a little more about the judge’s day-to-day activities as we met for breakfast at the Elder Cafe overlooking the Torrens River. I was a little concerned to her him say that “nowadays I only do crime”. This seems to me to be a contradiction in terms, however it is probably fair to say that one of his biggest crimes last night was to fine me $50 (about £35 at today’s exchange rates) after I took advantage of the appeals system. The Judge had invited those who thought the quantum of the fines imposed to be unfair, to appeal the scale of the fines and promptly increased mine for $30 to $50, thereby quashing any further dissent from the convicted.
Chris France @Valbonne_News
Hanging Judge in bribery scandle?
For some reason it seemed right that the judge was called to the bar. I cannot say for certain, but Hanging Judge John Judge-Mental seems to me to be no stranger to the bars of Adelaide, and although I am sure that his presence could be only due to his diligent observation of the team during their leisure hours, it has clearly tired him out as the picture I have of him asleep on the team bus shows. It is one that will be published if anything untoward should happen at the fines ceremony on Saturday. By that I mean that a certain writer of a certain blog expects gentle treatment when appearing in court.
So then, off to play cricket (rather than play around in bars) yesterday morning. It was the final game for the Nidderdale Taverners against the Singapore Misfits at the Tregenza Oval. Some unscheduled rain after an overnight storm changed expected batting conditions sufficiently to ensure that our captain, or in Australia skipper, Steve “skippy” Wilson, would change his mind about his decision to bat first. He did not. When a further tropical shower spiced up the wicket for the bowlers half way through our innings, the effect was to ensure that our team batted in the most spiteful pitch conditions, rendering a large total completely beyond us. 132 was never going to be enough, especially as, directly after lunch, when it was the turn of our opponents to bat, the wicket had calmed to a feather-bed and the Singapore Misfits raced to victory in a flurry of 4’s and 6’s. It is for the Hanging Judge to determine whether such an “interesting” decision should feature on Saturday evening’s sitting of the Teesside (kangaroo) Crown Court, but I expect The Crown v Wilson, Steve, to be high on the list of indictments.
If one is destined to lose a match, which the Taverners clearly were, then the best way to lose is to lose quickly and reduce the misery of fielding – an irksome duty on any circumstances – by as much as possible. Having to overcome a team fitter, younger, better at batting, bowling, and fielding whilst handing them a huge tactical advantage of winning the toss and then batting ourselves was always a tall ask, and as it turns out we were not up to the task. The fairly swift defeat ensured an early retreat to the bar, where I was able to spend some minutes talking to some of our Singaporean opponents about the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct for any foreign exchange transactions. A little later the Misfits began to live up to their name by showing us an interesting piece of Misfits culture. Some of the team took turns in ceremonially drinking beer from one of their rather obese teammates genital protectors. I did take a picture but has destroyed it as it was too ghastly an image for a family column such as this. Instead I have a picture from the venue of the first of the three matches earlier in the week, Tea Tree Gully.
Tea Tree Gully, scene of The first and last victory of The Nidderdale Taverners on tour.
The last day in Adelaide will culminate in the closing dinner at the Adelaide Convention Centre, handily placed just across the road from the outrageously expensive but quite ordinary Sebel Playford hotel where we are staying. There is talk that we should be wearing our cricketing colours for the dinner but I shall not be alone in rebelling. I have some outrageous shoes to wear which will compliment my silk smoking jacket and cravat, coupled with my properly waxed handlebar moustache. I sense that our Austrlaian hosts will like this look and be very supportive of me at the dinner.
Chris France @Valbonne_News
Cricket on his mind?
With no official function Golden Oldies cricket function and no cricket match, a decision was taken to board the tram from central Adelaide to Glenelg, the nearest seaside resort. Quite a large contingent from the Nidderdale Taverners grappled with the complexity of the on-board ticket machine, with some older members expressing satisfaction that the fare was half price for pensioners, a sad reflection on the average age of the team members.
Once there, some went in search of culture, some went in search of a swim and some, like my good self, went in search of a bar by the seaside for a seafood lunch. Eventually we were joined by some of the others at The Oyster Bar on the marina. John Lodge, the oldest plating member of the tour, and perhaps the best fielder, and who has constantly to deny that he was in the Moody Blues, recounted his visit to the museum in the town, but was told by travelling thespian Frazer Hines (pictured today with his carer) that he should be careful to keep moving as they were stock taking, otherwise he my find himself being numbered amongst the old relics.
Actor Frazer Hines being looked after in a special caring way
This led to a host of ageist jokes that were far too close to the truth for comfort. It was also noted that the graveyard at Sir Thomas Ingilby’s family estate had a sign outside its graveyard that says rather ominously “dropping off point”.
Inevitably talk turned to the last day of fixtures today, Friday. We are scheduled to be playing a team from Singapore known as The Misfits, but having seen them from time to time enjoying themselves in the town in much the same manner as we have been, I think they will fit in very well. It seems that the cricketing part of the game will be overseen by the cricket section of the home ground, whilst the social side will be handled by the rugby section, which bodes well. I think…
One of the local grounds in use during the festival is called Gaza. This piece if information provided some amusement, very little of which I can reproduce here. Suffice to say that the ceasefire will be suspended for much of the day.
Oysters were consumed in such numbers that further abuse may have caused them to become an endangered species, so by late afternoon it was time to board the tram and return to the hotel to regroup. Please do not ask me why, but hunger then consumed some of the party again and so the hard-core set off for Mekong, a Thai restaurant, that has become a favourite amongst some of the team, for some kangaroo satay. It was quite a ribald evening as I recall, but at least this time no one asked Sir Thomas if he had been buggered whilst at Eton , so I suppose it was relatively restrained.
John Judge-Mental, the hanging judge, has spent the last two days making copious notes for the Saturday evening sitting of the Teesside (kangaroo) Crown Court, where the misdemeanours of the tourists will be tried, convicted and sentenced. It seems that unusually for a court process, appeals should be made pre-trial and should take the form of unmarked bank notes in brown power bag. I have discovered that the Judge has our room number, which he must have been given by that Nice Lady Decorator, but have decided to keep quiet at this stage in case I need that information at a later date.
Sadly there is not enough space to outline the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct, maybe tomorrow.
Chris France
Duck hats off
After an early start, the coach took our team, the Nidderdale Taverners, up to the coastal town of Grange, (slightly less excitingly named than the venue for the first match -Tea Tree Gully -) for the teams second match of the Golden Oldies cricket festival. Following the narrowest of victories in our first game against Australian opposition, fashioned from an utterly commanding position chiseled out the openers (of which I was one) which was nearly frittered away by “Duck Hat” Sunderland, The victory was described by our leader, Sir Thomas Ingilby, as “the least convincing 7 wicket win he had ever witnessed” so we were looking for a more clear-cut and convincing result.
This we managed with consummate ease although perhaps not in the way we intended, losing by the considerable margin of 85 runs with 7 overs to spare.
The night before we had ventured out into downtown Adelaide for a late supper at the Thai restaurant Mekong. I had been telling that Nice Lady Decorator, whose first visit to Australia this is, that we would see some kangaroos, and so we did. Four of them to be exact, or rather, four pieces of kangaroo covered in satay sauce. She questioned whether these were four different animals but I told her not to not pick.
The game had started well, with our opponents from New Zealand under pressure from an attack which was precise and in charge, at least for the first 8 overs before the excitement of playing cricket in Australia was replaced with the realisation that, with an average age of 58, and having royally abused body and soul with strong drink in copious quantities over the past few days, coupled with sunshine and temperatures in the 30’s centigrade, our far younger foe gradually dominated, scoring 185 in their 40 overs. During the match I was lucky enough to witness a piece of tactical acumen on a scale seldom witnessed by man, unless that man is “Duck Hat” Sunderland, when one of our bowlers set a 7/2 leg side field and promptly bowled 4 wides outside the off stump. For non-cricketing folk, this was about as sensible as putting King Herod in charge of a boys school. I cannot name the miscreant but fans of popular TV series Dr. Who and Emmerdale Farm who follow this daily column may be able to identify the culprit.
Talking of schools, after returning from the match, a group of team mates and camp followers retired to a bar overlooking the very pretty Torrens River for a post match beer. I must draw a discreet veil over part of subsequent proceedings as I would like to remain married to that Nice Lady Decorator, so I am unable, in these circumstances, to reveal who it was that, after a day of drinking in the sunshine, and caught up in the heady atmosphere of sunshine and Sauvignon, publicly asked Sir Thomas Ingilby some very impertinent questions about his life as a schoolboy at Eton and actually used the word “buggary” in one of her questions. Desperate to head her off at the pass, so to speak, I changed the subject to the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct and suggested we have dinner whilst ensuring that she was separated from Sir Thomas by the widest possible margin. I would like to say that he “ducked” the question, but that was not the case as my picture today shows.
Sir Thomas Ingilby sporting tour headgear
Earlier, at the cricket, team member and senior judge, John Warford, to be known from now on in this column as “John Judge-mental, The Hanging Judge” announced that, rather than the traditional fines system imposed on team members for misdemeanours committed on tour, he would stage his own form of a committal hearing by staging a Teesside Crown (kangaroo) Court session on Saturday evening, ahead of the final festival dinner to deal with offenders. The search is now on for a black cap.
Chris France
Movember moment
Wolf Blass is my favourite Australian wine producer and so, even though I had been therefore some 10 years before, it would have been churlish not to take up the offer of a free visit and barbecue at this Barossa Valley vineyard. A team outing was what I had in mind, it was only yesterday that I discovered that all teams were going , some 600 people. The event, a giant indoor barbecue took place in a giant air-conditioned hangar but was rescued by the continual stream of Wolf Blass wine and food together with some entertainment. Apart from a quite average Rolling Stones tribute band, The Rocking Stones, and a quite good Australian comic with an eye of having a pop at the British (wearing what that Nice Lady Decorator told him was his “Vomit Jacket” – multi-coloured and gaudy), there were some roving entertainers, best of which was the gay 6 feet 6 inch tall accordionist called Hans, complete with laddered tights and hot pants. I was going to feature a picture of him “entertaining” a certain peer of the realm but have been talked out of it for the time being whilst I consult my lawyers, and consider whether I want to spend a time in penal servitude.
In its place I have decided to use a picture of two rather attractive blokes sharing a “Movember” moment at the Golden Oldies Cricket Festival opening ceremony. That this may have a gay context is something I deny with every fibre of my being.
Two good-looking chaps exchange pleasantries
The trip up to Wolf Blass had us going past some of the most iconic wine producers in Australia. Seeing the vineyards of Penfolds and Jacobs Creek and other great names from Australian wine only served to sharpen the taste buds, so by the time we got there, on the stroke of midday, it was time to try some from the horse’s mouth as it were.
On the bus trip, the iconic Fraser Hines, already in Australia for a Dr. Who convention (he was the longest-serving companion to the doctor, playing Jamie, the kilted Scottish assistant) was his usual ebullient self, full of one liners. My favourite was when talking about the cricket the day before, to describe a hat-trick (the feat of a bowler taking three wickets with three consecutive deliveries) during the Golden Oldies as a “geriatrick”. Also keeping the coach travellers in good spirits was Ian “duck hat” Sutherland, purely because of his punishment of wearing the duck hat all the way to the wine region.
Departing mid afternoon, we returned to Adelaide to prepare for today’s cricket match against some opposition from New Zealand. It was planned that this should take the form of a couple of drinks and then an early night. Good plan, but one that was destined to fail, so as I write this it is one thirty in the morning, I have paid considerably more attention to the products of the local wine region than I had intended, and I have just set my alarm for 7.30 in order to get a bite to eat before the impossibly early start of 8.25am
This will be the second of our three games, the third being on Friday and it will be hot. Even hotter than Monday, but not as hot as the forecast 39 degrees on Thursday that, if cricket were played, would lead inevitably to casualties to the British contingent. There is a tram system in Adelaide which runs as far as the seaside resort of Glenelg, where I shall be taking cover from the fearsome sun and, no doubt, be relaxing on the beach with some of the local produce and consider the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct.
Chris France
Opening match ends in duck hat award
As I mentioned yesterday, there are a number of characters on the cricket tour to Adelaide where I am at the moment who may loom large in the coming week, and will definitely attract the attention of the fines committee (from which I was sacked from my self-appointed position as chairman of the fines steering committee after the opening ceremony – pictured today -for being “too zealous”). Our leader, Sir Thomas Ingilby, has already donated 50 Australian dollars (about £35 at today’s Currencies Direct exchange rates) on account of fines he expects to incur.
The opening ceremony procession
Then there is Clem Chambers, possibly the least mobile man on two legs I have ever encountered and with a wrong opinion on everything. He has already provided some comic relief by confusing the measurements for his team shirt to the extent that when wearing it, he looks like a balloon at maximum capacity. Add to this the media powerhouses that are myself and John “Chuckle Brothers”, the Hanging Judge John Warford, renowned thespian Fraser Hines, the actor renowned for his appearances in Dr. Who and Emmerdale Farm and the master of the one liner and you have an eclectic mix of English eccentrics ideally designed to wind up the Aussies.
Now to the cricket itself; Our first opponents in the Golden Oldies cricket festival were an Australian team. The Australians natural bait are poms, colloquial slang for the English to come to the heat of Australia ill-prepared for the sun, a fitting description yesterday after we had taken to the cricket field in temperatures hovering in the low thirties. The resemblance to pomegranates of many of us after the match was there for all to see.
The Yandina Pioneers, a team from Brandenberg had made the 28 hour drive from north of Brisbane in order to take part and, being typically Australian they were of course delighted to lose to us, The Nidderdale Taverners, off the last ball in a 40 over contest. Quite how we managed to save our victory until the last ball, and indeed should not have won) was down to tactical ineptitude of the highest order, which resulted in Ian “Duck Hat” Sutherland, the perpetrator, being given the honour of wearing said hat until the next game on Wednesday. It is a quaint hat with fake orange duck beaks sticking out and is truly horrible, and is awarded by the Captain to anyone who scores 0 (a duck in cricketing parlance). Tradition dictates that he must wear it in public until the start of the next game and, as we have a trip out to the wine region in the Borassa valley, and Wolf Blass in particular today, he will suffer somewhat. When he protested that he did score the one run to win, it was decided that as he should have been caught off the last ball, then technically it was as close to a duck (scoring 0) as we had.
For non cricketers I apologise for this paragraph. I explained to him that I had once played in a cricket match when we needed 170 runs to win with two balls to go and our last man at the crease. Simply not getting out would have meant a draw, however our no. 11 decided to dance down the wicket and hit the ball for 6, missed it and was stumped by a furlong. I pointed out to him that, with the scores level and with two balls to go, it was clear what his duty should have been; to scamper a single and win the game. Instead, he blocked the penultimate ball and then attempted to hit a six of the last, when he should have been caught. Anyway, we won and he lost.
Chris France
Santa Claus is coming to town
Breakfast at the Sebel Playford hotel in Adelaide was offered at the utterly unreasonable price of 33 Australian dollars (about £24 at today’s exchange rates) so we sought an alternative. We decided to venture down towards the Torrens river that runs prettily along the northern edge of the central area, where we found a found a cafe overlooking the river which was serving breakfast for 60 per cent of the hotel prices, and with far superior views.
The race to be Santa Claus in Adelaide
Adelaide in need of aid
I know you will be surprised to know that I, paragon of virtue, and renowned non-drinker and liar, was not feeling his best yesterday morning. Although suspicions amongst my touring party were that I had perhaps in imbibed rather too enthusiastically the night before, I knew the truth; I had eaten something either too spicy or too rich. Anyway, I clearly looked unwell as I was excused further retail distress without having to whimper very much at all, probably on the grounds that I may have been sick on the merchandise.
This morning, before the opening ceremony and welcome reception for the 30 odd teams (now there is a turn of phrase, we shall look very odd in our long white socks and navy shorts for the procession) who have flown from around the world to play cricket in the Golden oldies cricket Festival, John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees and I have resolved that after an early breakfast, we will walk down to the cricket ground as Australia are playing South Africa in the second Test Match. It seems as if the national cricket team are also being ritually abused by staying at the same hotel for the duration of the game.
In search of some solace in the form of food and drink, we headed up to the rather appropriately named Gouger Street which had been recommended to us by the concierge because of its range of restaurants and bars. I say appropriate because for a reasonable tapas meal and the meanest paella for two I have ever seen, they gouged out of us enough money to buy the restaurant, an eye-watering final insult to round off a most disappointing welcome to Australia. Apart from the unswerving friendliness of the locals and the weather, I have so far found very little of what I found so charming about Adelaide when I last came about 10 years ago. Maybe once the jet lag recedes I shall have a more positive view.
Chris France
One night in Bangkok
It had the potential to go horribly wrong. One night in Bangkok had to kick off in some way. It started benignly with a trip out to out outskirts of the city to eat at the idyllic Treehouse Restaurant situated on the banks of the Chao Phraya river. It was just after sunset when we arrived after a torturous journey through the ridiculously congested early evening rush hour traffic, but it was worth it for the stunning location, great food and perfect setting.
Arriving back in the centre of the city before 10pm, and with this being our last night in Bangkok, what to do? In the pursuit of culture, and being 15 minutes drive from the iconic Patpong, I had suggested that we indulge in some of the local culture but had received a noticeable lack of support from some members of our touring party for reasons I cannot fathom. Surely an area, which in my opinion should be a world heritage site, should be visited when one was nearby with time on one’s hands? Near to the hotel is a sort of mini Patpong, with bars offering floor shows mainly involving naked girls, some of an age that may have interested the late Sir Jimmy Savile, but it was not the real thing, so eventually I persuaded that Nice Lady Decorator to accompany me to Patpong itself. I think I should draw a discreet veil over the actual events, but her insistence on asking anyone who would listen, mostly men affiliated to some bar or other, where was the best floor show proved most debilitating as we were constantly led to more and more seedy bars, tiring a little after midnight. I shall not be returning. We did not achieve any of my aims, which included either darts or bananas, although we did see a novel but fairly undramatic use for ping-pong balls. I have a picture taken during the evening as my photo of the day.
Some charming young ladies in Bangkok
Now, back to Cabbages and Condoms, a restaurant I featured yesterday. I am berated for not knowing that it was set up by a Thai government minister to promote safe sex, so I stand corrected, as it were. Their website boasts that they are certain no one will get pregnant by eating their food. I am so relieved.
With one last chance for retail therapy this morning, an opportunity that the Nice Lady Decorator is certain to grasp with both wallets, there is the small matter of packing ready for the flight this evening to Adelaide via Sydney. A day earlier, I had bought a very fetching pith helmet made out of some local material (coconut I think, but I could be wrong) which I liked very much. It even had a chin strap. I was, it has to be said, in a minority of one in favour of my wearing it, and I think I can safely say that none in our party were entirely convinced that my plan to buy 11 of them, (at about £6 at today’s exchange rates) to enhance the cricket teams appearance at the parade of nations and opening night party for the Golden Oldies Cricket Festival, which starts this coming Monday, was as sound as I did. They may have been right as the chin strap broke as I was sitting in a tuk tuk taxi and blew off my head into a puddle of, well, it looked like it could be sewage, so astonishingly, I was precluded from going back for it. Thus my plan vastly to increase the presence of our team was thwarted. I just know that my team mates will be as upset as I by this lack of sartorial improvement.
Chris France
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