Category: Life

Yes, thanks, Channel 7. I would like my life back, now.

Nan’s funeral today was a simple, understated service filled with love and warm remembrances of her life. Mum had prepared a eulogy a few months ago, when she felt best able to, and was able to share most of it on her own (with help from my brother Steve and I). I was able to read a beautifully appropriate poem which Mum had found a while ago. I’ll have to post it when I get the chance.
Nan’s service brought together a lot of folk I’d not expected to see – cousins and relatives came from miles around to say good bye. I did get to see the burial places of some of the people who I’d only known as entries in the family tree. Nan has a spot on the wall where she can ‘see’ her first husband – Mum’-s dad – Hilton.
I remember Nan as a big part of our lives when we were younger – almost every weekend was spent hanging out at her house in Punchbowl at one stage in the family’s life. She was a wonderful carer, a great cook, and a loving Nanna. She’s the only person I know who wasn’t afraid of using pressure-cookers on the stove.
Given that Nan was the last of my grandparents, I’m glad I was able to introduce her to her great-grandchildren only a few months ago on a family trip to Sydney. I knew back then that I’d probably be kissing her goodbye for the last time as I left the nursing home. Its rare that you get to say a real, proper goodbye to someone in that way. I’m blessed and privileged.
Rest in Peace, Nanna.

I got the news that my grandmother – Nan (Thelma) Williams died while I was in Ayers Rock. She’d been cared for in a nursing home for the past 6 years, and the news of her passing is a bittersweet relief. I’ll be flying to the funeral in Sydney this week to be with Mum, Sam and Steve.

Another early rise today. Ainslie had planned a full day tour to Kings Canyon – a three hour bus tour (a threeee hour tour) to an awesome landscape carved out of the Gill ranges. A three hour walking tour (are you seeing a pattern here?) up a mountain side was ‘not advisable for people with heart conditions, pregnancy or any other health complaints.’ Sounded scary, but we opted for the long walk.
Some of the photos of this place are posted in the Photo Gallery – it’s another unique set of rocks.
Returning late that day, we washed the sand off and went out for a thoroughly amazing dinner.
The next day, we finally get to sleep beyond sunrise. Rising to another perfect day, we go out for breakfast, stop by the photo shop to give our regards to Claire, and head back.
It’s been a long, long time since someone’s gone to the trouble Ainslie has to spoil me rotten. I think she might have a thing for me.

The clock was set for 4:50. I thought this was supposed to be a holiday. The problem with a natural attraction like Ayers Rock is that the best time to watch it ‘perform’ is at sunrise and sunset. Which means you have to be up at Sunrise. So we were.
It’s an awesome site to see Ayers Rock silhouetted black against a dawn sky, and to see it silently grow as we approach. The coach pulled up along the side of the road, and we watched the variety of colours grow across the rock as the sun rose behind us. It’s an absolutely awesome sight which is difficult to express other than to say that it changes colours. If you haven’t seen it, it’s hard to believe the range of hues the thing puts out. As a finale, the sunlight leaks out of the rock, flowing over the landscape to our position.
We toured some sites on the base of the rock which feel like churches. There are parts of the rock where you can’t help lowering your voice – as the rock folds and soars around you.
The local cultural center talks about the difference between government law – which is written on paper – and aboriginal law – which lives in their hearts. Wouldn’t it be interesting if other cultures had that perspective?
Returning to Sails, there’s another surprise waiting for me: an hour long massage session later that day. I don’t normally get this sort of pampering. When are the treats going to stop?
Ainslie says that we have another tour planned before then – for the Olgas. I did the maths in my head, but probably should have picked up on the hints sooner. How were we going to get to the Olgas and back before the massage session, two hours away?
When Ainslie led me out to the bus, and a helicopter tour bus was ready to pick us up. We were going to *fly* to the Olgas, it seemed. Neither of us had been in a helicopter before, so this was going to be an extra special treat. (Knowing how scared I am of heights, Ainslie says she’d asked me whether I was scared of helicopters a few weeks previously. I said I wouldn’t mind a trip, apparently. Sneaky girl.)
Hovering 2 thousand feet above the desert floor, you get a new perspective on how big everything is – how the desert ends sharply at the horizon – how the rock formations have a third dimension beyond what you see from the ground.
I was surprisingly unafraid of the helicopter experience. I kept flashing back to the episode of Skippy the Bush Kangaroo where one of the brothers gets sick while flying the helicopter over Sydney and it’s up to Sonny to land the helicopter with help from the Tower. I was actually kind of hoping that it would happen today so I get to play with some of the knobs, but sadly, the pilot had a steady constitution. Darn.
After a long day, a long night and a longer day, we take it easy for a while, watching people winning gold medals at the Olympics.
It’s about this time that I start to struggle with the constant nagging of my conscience as to whether I start blogging this experience right then and there, or whether I save up mental notes (and risk losing some of the detail) for the sake of drinking in the experience. I opt for the latter, after some internal greco-roman wrestling. There’s a whole discussion on the topic of ‘blogging integrity‘ that I’ll continue another time.
I need my sleep. Big day tomorrow. Apparently.

This was turning out to be a vastly different excursion to the last time I’d visited Ayers Rock back in Year Nine, 1985. Back then, we’d trekked across the vast plains of New South Wales via coach – along the bone-jarring corrugation of the Oodnadatta Track, past Coona-bloody-bara-bloody-bran, up the Stuart Highway to Alice Springs – camping out under the stars and over a variety of uncomfortable dirt surfaces.
Now Ainslie’s videoing my confusion in the Qantas Club as we await our 3-hour tour (our 3-hour tour). During the flight, she’ll reveal precious few other details. I’m along for the ride.
The weather is picture-perfect at Ayers Rock airport. It’s a bit warmer. I encounter the first fly I can remember swatting for many, many months. Ainslie lobs another surprise – telling me to watch for a shuttle bus for the *5-star resort* Sails In The Desert – the accommodation we’d lusted after all those years ago when pitching tents on the red sand of the Ayers Rock campground. The treats haven’t stopped coming, yet.
‘Sails’ is a low-rise oasis in the outback desert with beautifully-kept grounds which are disturbingly green. In fact, the entire landscape is a lot greener than I remember it. There’s been some recent rain, it seems, so the entire colour scheme has been updated. The grass really is greener.
Ainslie has planned another treat; the ‘Sounds of Silence’. It looks brilliant – an open-air formal dinner which is timed for sunset – so you can drink champagne and watch the colours change on the rock. We dress to the nines and get out to a bus to be taken to the back of nowhere for a few hours.
This is Ainslie’s first encounter with The Red Dirt – the bane of any excursion to the outback: it gets into everything. Ever the stylist, she’s given me another present; a pink tie which matches her new outfit beautifully, which in turn matches the colours of the desert sands at this hour of the evening. We step off the bus to the sounds of a didgeridoo and the clink of champagne glasses. Amazingly, we have mobile phone services out here – so I call the kids and tell them what I’m doing. The sun goes down, and we’re ushered to our tables.
It’s no longer possible for me to look at the Olgas the same way since someone pointed out to me on this trip that the formation ‘looks like Homer Simpson lying down’. Gaah.
The table we choose has the words ‘Reserved’ in two places. We sit down and introduce ourselves to our fellow diners – Jenny and John are an older couple, Simon and Priscilla seem about our age, and Claire and Nick claim the ‘reserved’ seats next to us. They’re the star couple tonight – a couple of locals celebrating the first anniversary of their meeting at the Rock, and looking toward a wedding late next year. They’re good friends with the wait staff, and have been there before, so they fill us in on the details.
Over the course of the next few hours, it’s anything but the sedate, reflective evening the brochures would have us believe. We learnt each other’s stories and gasped in horror at the story of a terrible kidnapping in Perth just a few hours earlier. Nick and Claire told of how they’d each picked each other out of the crowd at the local club at roughly the same time. We found out John and Jenny’s wedding – almost 50 years ago – had sent Jenny’s father to bankruptcy at the time. Priscilla and Simon — I think Ainslie spoke to them. (Sorry, guys, if you’re reading this!)
Part of the evening featured some periods of quiet reflection… which were all but ignored by the crowd that night. When asked to sit and listen to the sound sof the desert, we were treated to a cacophony of burps, farts, belches, wheezes and giggles worthy of a primary school outing. During a presentation of the star formations above us in the sky, in which it was pointed out that the nearest star would take 130 years to get to – travelling at the speed of light, of course – a lone voice rang out an awestruck ‘faaaaaark’ to the chagrin of the speaker and the amusement of all.
By the time the evening was complete, we were being led in impromptu, alcohol-fuelled choruses of ‘Waltzing Matilda’ and the Australian National Anthem Which Ends With ‘Oi, Oi, Oi’. It had descended from high culture into Australian football-crowd madness, and Ainslie and I were holding our sides in laughter.
A great, unique night out. Go there. Do it.

Ainslie told me we were going for a Birthday Breakfast. She lied.
In fact, she’s been lying a lot to me lately. And stealing things from me. And conspiring with others against me. The full extent of her deception wasn’t revealed until it was too late to do anything about it. Let me explain.
All I knew was that I’d been told to keep Friday morning free for a special breakfast. I needed to drop the kids off a little early to our nanny’s house to make sure we were able to get to the place on time. I dutifully did so. After returning home, while I was getting ready to be at work after breakfast, there came a knock on the door. I was expecting to greet a few friends who I’d been led to believe might have been joining us. Instead, there was a well-turned out gent – with the emblem ‘Black Tie Limousines’ – waiting. I noticed a white stretch limousine in the driveway. From the tone of Ainslie asking ‘who is it?’ I knew that I’d been got good.
I probably should have paid more attention to some of the little hints along the way. The fact that my toothbrush had gone missing sometime that morning. The fact that the driver was asking things like where did I think I was going for breakfast. The way he meandered through Fremantle, Cottesloe, Kings Park and Burswood during the drive to feed me a series of red herrings. The way Ainslie kept glancing at her watch.
Until we started heading west on the Great Eastern Highway, I had no idea we were headed for the airport. In fact, I wasn’t certain until we turned down the entry road. How could we be going on a plane? I had no bags packed…
The limo driver handed me and Ainslie our bags. The check in lady cleverly hid the luggage tags and boarding passes from me. It was only by asking Ainslie the departure time of our flight that I got my first real clue. Ten-past-ten. Ayers Rock.
“You won’t be going to work today. Or Monday. Happy Birthday.”
(More to come. In the meantime, the photos are here.)

To test some web analysis software at work today, I used some of the July traffic logs from BONWAG. It’s been a while since I last did it, and there’s been a few changes since then. It’s interesting to get down on the hands and knees every so often and see what sort of mud is being tracked through the front door. For example:
* I discovered that the Funny Bible Verses were linked from the July newsletter of Sunday Software. Thanks, team. Interestingly, the web logs reveal a number of visits from webmail sites, indicating that people are sending the link to friends via email. If that’s how you got here, welcome!
*The funnest references are to the 80s page. People are still looking for ‘BJ and The Bear’ and ‘The Dukes Of Hazzard’. There is hope for the world, yet.
* There are some Intranets out there which also link to the List of Useful Things To Say In Latin. Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum videtur. Hello to the RAAF flyboys.
* The site is being visited by more search engine robots than I can count. Hello to you too.
* Seems people have been also searching the Google Image archives for the picture of Gollum I put on a weblog entry I posted after seeing Lord Of The Rings. If you’re looking for it, it’s been moved to here.
Weird. But that’s what you get when you can’t decide what your website is about.

I have few (OK, no) skills at doing home renovations. That’s why I’m always a bit cagey about talking to my friend Colin, who, whenever I meet him on the weekend, is invariably either adding a new storey onto his house, or helping someone else to erect their own small Taj Mahal. I struggle to justify my own policy of letting the experts do their job well. I weakly point to my wallpapering job on the front foyer. But when I’m honest, I have to admit that I’ve let other people build, paint, clean and mow for me. Shame.
Fact is, I’d prefer to spend more time modelling our house on the computer in 3D (last weekend), so we can preview some new landscaping for the workers who will actually be getting their hands dirty.
In any case, to restore my self-respect (and my manhood), I sat down at the computer tonight to build a new room on my virtual home here at fairding.com. Without help. Without borrowing from other people’s script libraries. Just like the old days, I’ll build something from scratch, just to make myself feel better. And I did, in a few hours. I’m feeling pretty chuffed.
I’ve been planning this addition for a while. I’ve looked at Rod’s blog and thought that the ‘What I’m Reading’ section is pretty nifty – you know what he’s into at the moment, and if you’re into the same thing, you have something to talk about. That’s what a web page should be about. Not just your past experiences, but what you’re into right now.
Now, know that Rod probably manually updates that every so often when he gets a chance. Fact is, with all the web page editing and double-checking and errors, it’s a fairly complicated job for what it produces. I thought that there would be scope to make the task a little easier by hooking into amazon.com and just by indicating the reference number, you could have them fill in the blanks, provide a picture, and, if someone trusts my judgement enough, a link to be able to buy it. The task was to assemble a fully-formatted ‘flavour of the month’ page, with a smaller version for the front page, simply by having a single file to update.
If you look on the main page, and here at ‘flavour of the month‘; that’s the result. The website has a single data file to read, which contains the ID number for the book/film/record, who recommended it, and a few notes about it. Everything else, the picture, the link, and a few other items of information, is supplied by digging into the back-end of amazon.com and yanking it out. (Let me know if you’re interested in if for your site.)
In the end, yeah, I’m still relying on someone else doing the leg-work for me, but I’ve re-established my self-respect. I may not be able to thow a hammer around the place, but I’m handy with moulding chunks of web code.

Once again, I don’t personally know anyone who made it into the latest round of Australian Idol. I didn’t know anyone in the previous series, either, or any of the Big Brothers. I’m not even closely personally familiar with anyone on Blue Heelers, or Home and Away, or Neighbours or any award-winning authors, or sportsmen or any member of a major symphony orchestra.
How long is it going to take before I can say that I know/knew someone famous? At the moment, my only claim to vicarious fame is that I used to sing with Toby and Andrew from Human Nature in high school. Pfeh.
Come on, people. Someone get famous so I can say that I knew you before you were famous.
Or I might just have to do it myself.