Chimney Sweeps

Having taken on board the warning from Quilly and Silverdrake I got a local in to do the chimney today. What a racket!

By the time he flew out of the stove he was spotty young starling doing the sooty crashlanding into windows curtains and furniture... but I believe he was a snow white dove at the top of the chimney before he fell from grace, or the chimney top.

As you may gather I had bird down the chimney today. Much chaos and excitement trying to get the silly noisy bastard out of there squawk, scratch, scrabble flutter, squawk, shower of debris... I finally gave up trying to reach around the baffleplate into the chimney - like cray hole but warmer (the fire was long out, so not warm enough to be a problem) and was trying to work out if I could get a gaff or something down to what I was convinced was going to be a chimney-block dead bird, when it found its own out into the fireplace of the burner itself - fortunately the door was now open, and a manic, very scared and very pissed-off sooty starling was trying to find his way out of the house... I got him out of the door.

Anyway, the boys are home, full of flathead and chips.

Sleepless...

Well, the boys are safe in an Airport hotel in Melbourne. Getting them there has been well, shall we say rather like Sleepless in Seattle only not involving Seattle, or RomComs or large cities. Actually I suspect it'd take a fair amount of effort to get as far away as Flinders Island from Seattle with our 0.6 people per square km and gum trees and wallabies... but the sleepless part is about spot on.

You see we asked the boys to drop us an SMS to say safely ready to board. A simple cheap excercise... we were worried because James had a late Maths exam, and had to fly on a later plane to Johannesburg giving him very little time to check in and board. And Paddy had his cell-phone stolen a few weeks ago. I hate close run things, especially with ropey communication. So - figuring they couldn't call before 3AM we went to bed around 10 ish. Me- I wake and look at the clock, and a tissue I put on the table obscures the 3 of 23.57... so I wake up. See the time. Go check my computer. Put more wood on the fire in slow combustion heater. go back to bed... not sleeping. 3.30 AM get up. Check computer -find Paddy tried to skype at 1. What do I do about Visa?

Now Australia in its wisdom issues a small (very small) number of visas to people of creative and intellectual and sporting ability that they think will add avalue to their country. It's a clever policy and one other countries might start taking exception to. Ok, every now and again even clever ideas may be applied less-than-cleverly because we were granted one of these. (They're unusual to the point that the very large bank in Hobart had never heard of them, and very politely asked us to wait while they checked... and came back and were very nice to us. The same was repeated when we registered for tax and medicare - "I've never seen one of these," telephone...) It's a generous visa allowing 5 years of unlimited entry for me, B and and our two boys despite their being over 18. And here is the real kicker - it's a label-free visa. It does not appear on your passport - your passport number is linked to it and the immigration guys scans it gives you a smile and say "welcome to Australia."

Which means, de facto, that the source country doesn't actually know you've been poached... and some can be nasty, and I think it is merely a matter of time before South Africa - bleeding skills and education fleeing its corruption and crime - starts to get nasty too (easier than fixing the problem, persecute the symptoms...)

There is just ONE downside. The airlines don't like transporting people back because they don't have visas. And they too don't know much about visa class 124. So they ask for your ticket and passport at check in... and check to see if you have a valid visa.

I of course (when we left SA) had the visa grant letter with me. I still have it in electronic form and of course in several copies on paper.

Oh dear... you see the problem. Anyway, Paddy is a child of infinite-sagacity-and-resource - or at least determination, goes to see the Australian ambassador (I quote - I assume he means the office and consular rep) and gets a clearance (which he is entitled to) and finds out for his brother.

I am sending copies frantically over skype and e-mail and sms. NO REPLY.

Now... somewhere in all this the geniuses (and they are, both of them) decide that an e-mail to their mum's gmail account will do just fine. Why SMS and wake us...

My sister Skyped me at about 5 AM to say she'd heard a few hours earlier that they were going through passport control... at which point my knotted stomach untangles a little... not enough to sleep, but I had bath and made porridge.

At about 11.30 this morning B checks her post (on her computer)... 'We're in the departures lounge, no major hassles.'

Anyway... they're in Melbourne, in their hotel.

B flies out tomorrow morning to Launceston for her bone marrow biopsy (which we've been avoiding mentioning because they read the blog sometimes, and well, they were writing exams and could do nothing except worry. And I am doing that well enough for all of us.) And they will find her at Launceston Airport.
Sagas.
Our lives are never just simple.
After a 2 hour sleep my writing has been bloody awful, and I ended up cutting most of it, but the end is louring.

Borer beetle in wooden fence

Now for the next question. But thank goodness it is not our problem.

Our landlord's mother has become our most frequent visitor, and she is a real honey. She lives in 'town' and so shares a fence with her neighbour. They put up a new wooden fence about 6 years ago, and now at least 3 of the planks are disintergrating into white powder. I think she has borer beetle, and I am convinced there is something simple that you can paint onto it, to kill the beetle. Methylated spirits, or paraffin or something like that.

I learned it at school, in my 8th year, when we did a subject called "Household and hygiene" or domestic science. We learned what to use to get bubblegum off clothes etc, and I am sure borer was in there, but I just cannot bring it to mind.

Probably because the boys get here in less than 2 days, and the whole of my small mind is taken up with them, and hoping that all goes smoothly for their flights, 3, and their overnight accommodation.

What goes down...

Must sometimes come up, as was the case -for me, of the saveloy that B had brought back from the cattle auction. It was 4 AM this morning befor the last of parted with me, and I got some sleep. Until first light when I was up as usual. Very annoying to be a light sensitive sleeper. Anyway, it's been a tea and toast day and the book has not moved very much.

The tiny little art gallery had a show this evening, and we went to show solidarity. One of the things on display was a number of paper-thin lathed bowls - made a friend of John's - delicately shaped and drawn out of the grain and sometimes bark.



That's the artist herding cows. You don't want to judge people quickly.

Cattle la lowing!

Today was the island stock sale. I was part of the team who were selling tea, juices, sandwiches, cake and hot dogs to the 'crowd'. As it is school holidays there were quite a few children out for the day, as well as the farmers who had come to sell, or hoping the price was right, to buy. We were a little bit removed from the actual pens, in our old army style tent, but were the only refreshments available, so we did a brisk trade for most of the day.

So there we were, 4 women stuck in a small sheltered area, with a small gas stove to heat the saveloys and the coffee water, an esky (what we would call a coolbox) to keep the juice cold and several tables for cake and money etc. Unfortunately someone had herded their cows over our piece of ground before the tent went up, but we had a piece of red plastic over the biggest pats, and having labelled that the 'red carpet' the fun began. I have not laughed so much for so long in years, and I think my cheeks will be stiff tomorrow.

The 'A' team, who usually do the work, were not available, so we were apprentices without guidance, and we muddled through, and I hope made some money, but it was more by good luck than good judgement in the beginning, before we learned the ropes, and how to make the leaky gas stove cook faster. Do you know that if you put saveloys in water and begin to heat them, and then take some of the water out of the pot, it will have become a really girlie pink??

I think every customer left with a smile, but whether they were laughing with us, or at us, is anyones guess.

I thought that the saveloys were tastier this time, but I am not sure if that was hunger adding sauce, or whether I am becoming more accustomed to island tastes. I could smell coffee all day, but dared not have a cup, as there are no bathroom facilities at all at the saleyards. Which I found really strange.

A cow got its leg over one of the wooden struts that make up the sides of the pens, and immediately our landlord and a 'mate' of his jumped into action. One running to the ute to fetch the chainsaw, and the other getting into position ready to use it. The commotion even attracted our attention, so we popped out of the tent, in time to see the burly farmer pull the chainsaw into action on the run. Except that it didn't start, first, second or third pull. He handed it over to the owner, who also failed to start it for a few pulls. Then finally, just as I was going to jog over to ask sweetly if I could help, it started with a roar, and the cow was saved. If it had broken a leg, it would have had to be put down immediately, and as we have no abbattoir on the island it would have been a total write off. I asked the landlord later if I should have come to help, but he just muttered that his 'mate' had flooded the engine, normally she starts first pull.

Still it was great to get home, and over a delicious cup of coffee, tell Dave all about it. What did we laugh at? I think it was mass hysteria, at how many things can go wrong in setting up a stall, when we found we had no water, or matches, and the first customer used one of those 100 dollar notes to pay 3 dollars for his coffee. One of the ladies car's had overheated on the way in, and she had discovered there was a hole in her radiator, and her husband was worried she had cooked the engine, which just added to the need to laugh away the tension.

It was certainly a day to remember, the company, the sights and the smells. I really hope they invite me to help again.

Sweeping the house

Now it's been said that the sort of South Africans who emigrate legally (the ones other countries want - who are generally well-educated, skilled and, well, at least used to a South African middle-class lifestyle and income) really battle with the simple domestic chores the rest of the Western World's people accept as part of life (once I would have said white South Africans, but these days it is more a case of income than skin colour). Many of them have never cooked or washed up or cleaned their homes. They can be found in many foreign countries looking in puzzlement at a vacuum cleaner or trying to wash up in pure dishwashing liquid, and weeping noisily for Miriam that they never appreciated over the iron...

Of course we're different, as we seem to have spent most of our adult lives too broke to pay a fair wage and therefore not employing anyone. We know how to cook, clean etc.

And to prove it here is a picture of B sweeping the house.
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(actually dealing with spiders but it looked good ;-))

paper nautilus

I took an early walk down to the beach this morning, and found the this rather broken paper nautilus shell, in among the seaweed and the p-plater crabs. A bit symbolic I suppose - a fragile thing travelled across thousands of miles of sea to fetch up on a lonely beach on a remote island. I had several miles of sand-curve beach to myself... well, as the only human. The sky was slate fragments and the low-tide flats, full of the broken reflections seemed to go right on to the horizon. Across it a scattering of oystercatchers - looking for all the world like slightly disdainful matrons in widow's weeds (with red stockings!) at a bargain-basement sale stalking the sand-bar aisles. Sometimes I get so caught up in surviving, working, cooking, working, waiting, worrying that I lose sight of the sheer granduer of it.

And this time next week my boys will be here. My Roly-poly-puddin'-n-pie- kissed the girls an got a black eye Old English got his smellogram and has been eating like a horse... or a labrador. has put on 1.5kg. All of them, Dats and cog babies, will be out of quarantine on the 21st.
Family all together again, soon.