Week 11: Down Under

 

Hi everyone,

I’m having a lovely time in Oz.

I admit I was a bit surprised when I arrived and I didn’t land on a Bad Witch. Neither was there any Scarecrow, Tin Man or Cowardly Lion. Nor have I seen any flying monkeys, but there have been a lot of flying birds. My great-uncle Carl has an aviary in the back garden, so I’ve seen canaries, parakeets, budgies, galahs, cockatiels, goldbreasts, Gouldian and Zebra finches. Uncle Carl is a much kinder master than The Wicked Witch of the West, so I don’t think there’s any chance he’ll turn them against a ten-week-old baby.

On Monday we went for a walk around Mandurah. I say ‘walk,’ I got carried in the carrier. Critics would say that I’m lazy. I would argue the following: I’m ten weeks old and can’t walk. Also, mummy and I are paying homage to Australia’s iconic animal: the kangaroo and its joey. I like bouncing around town with my mum – it’s a fine way to travel. Safe in her pouch, we made our way across the beach, up the mariner, before having a spot of lunch at The Pen. They all had pizza. Milk again for me. If variety is the spice of life, my existence must be very bland.

On Tuesday we took the train to Perth. I’ve been on the London Underground for my brother’s hospital appointment and let me tell you: the train to Perth is cleaner and cosier than the London choo-choo. We had tickets to Perth Museum to see the Dinosaurs of Patagonia. Everyone laughed when Emma shared a story about mistaking Patagonia for a different place. My daddy didn’t laugh though – he remained silent, whispering only to mummy. There were titanosaurs there, which were very big. I mean I didn’t think there could be anything bigger than daddy, but these must have been two of daddy in height and length.

On Wednesday we spent the day at the beach. It was hot. My mummy and daddy put the green crab in the bath at home and say, “It’s 37 degrees, Harriet.” Or, ‘’It’s 37 degrees, Ryan.’’ Harriet and Ryan must be the name for water, although I don’t know why there isn’t just one word for it. Words are very confusing. I think sounds are much better. Anyway, the temperature on the beach was nearly bath time temperature. It was so hot they kept me in the tent most of the time. They did take me down to the big bath, but it was so cold on my feet. I thought to myself, ‘’Where’s the green crab? Why haven’t you put that in there? At the very least add some hot in.” They didn’t listen to my thinking. Instead, they just took pictures of me and smiled. They can be very cruel.

On Thursday we went in the car to South Perth to see Emma’s artwork in an exhibition. Emma is my mummy’s cousin, which makes her my mummy’s cousin. Emma’s work was displayed in a beautiful building. We were given slips on the way in. These were there to vote for our favourite. My daddy did my one for me. He said it was a ‘’proxy vote.’’ Other than putting my feet in the big cold bath, I trust him, so I was happy with that. I saw all types of art there: big faces, small faces, animals, blocks and models. I think art is when you do something that is like a thing, but not a thing. My daddy reads the writing and then looks at the art. My mummy tells him he’s doing it the wrong way round. My daddy says, ‘What do you know?’’ My mummy says, ‘’I know Patagonia isn’t a cake.’’

On Friday we had a party. Because we don’t get to see our Australian family every year, we celebrated all the birthdays and celebrations in one evening. It looked like fun. Everyone had food that was cooked outside and afterwards ate food that was cooked inside. I had milk again. Milk, milk, milk, milk. I love milk but you can have too much of a good thing. ‘The sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness.” After food, we all danced to songs my brother likes. He was spinning around and laughing like a madman. People keep saying, ‘He’ll always look out for you, your older brother.’’ I’m not even sure he can look after himself. I might be better going it alone.

On Saturday we went to Fremantle. Everyone said daddy would like it because it had lots of bookshops. He did seem very happy there. He kept saying to me, ‘’Jude: this place has got breweries, markets and bookshops, what more could you want?’’ I thought, ‘’I haven’t the liver for alcohol, the maths for trade or the brain development for reading, so my paradise might look a little different to yours.’’ It was nice to see him happy though. Normally, he’s stressing over men kicking balls or muttering to the heavens for more sleep, so I’ll let him have his moment.

Overall, I’m having a great time and I still have one more week to go. That’s like 100 sleeps for me.

Love you,

Jude

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