The Grand Slam Plan - Rumbling Tums in the Grampian Highlands!

I am contemplating putting up some serious resistance to leaving Melbourne and the Langham, in particular.  But Big Foot (yes, it's still big!) points out that the room rates multiplied several times over for this weekend and it's time to move on. And he's definitely looking forward to the big drive. So we pick up the hire car and head out of the city.

Our route combines motorways with some 'roads less travelled' and you quickly get a sense of how sparsely populated some areas are. We are still touristy enough to laugh and point out signs that remind you to beware kangaroos and koalas although I imagine that the koalas only need 'bewaring' at night as they are sleepy during the day (and most of the night as it turns out...)

We are on our way to the Grampian Highlands to Meringa Springs at the suggestion of friends from home and the two hour drive from Melbourne turns out to be more like four hours with only a stop for a kitkat and petrol. The last ten miles along eucalyptus-lined roads we hardly see a car and finally we turn in at the sign that says Meringa Springs. There are a few cottages, a helipad and a terracotta-painted house with no sign on the door. I push it open and an elderly chap is standing in reception and  confirms it is indeed Meringa Springs. He is Swiss and retired when he was 65 and built this tiny hotel in, well, the middle of nowhere.

Our room is a cottage a short walk from the main hotel with large sitting room, huge bedroom, bathroom and dressing room. The view from our balcony where we can sit - less of a balcony, more of a fenced patio - is across the bush to the mountains and it reminds me of Kenya. As evening draws in, with the most spectacular sunset, the wildlife makes its way nearer to the hotel.

But first we swim in the infinity pool which we have all to ourselves and bask in almost the first proper sun we've had on this trip before dinner in the tiny dining room. There are six other guests, all very friendly and it feels like a house party rather than a hotel. Dinner, Shiraz, bed.

One of the things I have especially enjoyed on this trip is my morning run. I've loved the experience of running on unfamiliar streets, never knowing what lies around the corner. My runs have thus far been city-based but this morning I lace up my trainers and set off across the uneven scrub of the bush. Almost as soon as I leave the immediate environs of the hotel, I come nose to nose (well, about 8 metres) with a large kangaroo. He looks at me - and we're at eye level - and I look at him. Will he run/hop? No, he just ignores me as I set off across the scrub. In my fifteen minute run (too hot and too many flies to stay out any longer) I encounter about 40 kangaroos and some turn and flee as they see me approach and others merely look at me and carry on grazing. Surreal. (Just briefly to fast forward to later in the trip, it turns out that this was a highly dangerous activity but no one told me so I did it anyway.)

We decide that after all our travelling we need a quiet day by the infinity pool and it's hot and blissful and a perfect day for reading, swimming and ... doing nothing. One other couple stay at the hotel too whilst the others set off walking and hiking in the Grampian Highlands. Stunning scenery but even we run out of gas sometime. As we get near to lunchtime, someone is waiting for the bar to open and I am looking forward to a salad or a sandwich. But the hotel remains resolutely empty and there's no sign of any staff - neither Paul, the proprietor, nor any of the other family members who work there. By about two pm, we are starting to get irritated by the lack of either food or drink and the neurologist husband and wife from Switzerland with whom we have been chatting are equally irritated. The nearest town is some thirty miles away so not a hop round the corner to your local Spar. Time to consult the internet where we discover on TripAdvisor that they don't do lunch. Surely they could have told us that at check-in? And the bar isn't open so between the four of us we amass two bottles of red wine and some peanuts and that has to keep us going till dinner. Luckily our Swiss friends are great company and despite rumbling tums we survive.

Dinner together is fun and we exchange email addresses and perhaps we will meet them again on the Great Ocean Road. This is such a truly beautiful place but I shall be ready to leave tomorrow.

The Grand Slam Plan - Why they call it the Happy Slam

It's our last morning in Adelaide and we're up and off early to the airport. Despite a serious amount of luggage re-jigging, I am still the lightweight traveller and my fellow traveller is still over the limit so we swap a few items into my luggage - why are we travelling round the world with a roll of sellotape? Anyway all is sorted and we are in plenty of time for our 10 o'clock flight.

Landing in Melbourne we are met by our limo driver who, it transpires, comes from Turkey. Happy chat until we get on to the subject of Greece at which point, our driver lists all the ways that Greeks are inferior to Turks - right down to making baklava. Ridiculous!

We are staying at the Langham and it is VERY nice. We are ushered into the Club Lounge as our room isn't quite ready where we meet the managing director of the hotel. He is mates with our friends in Sydney and he kindly made us very welcome indeed. We had missed the Murray family and entourage by 24 hours. Not many players stay at the Langham but Murray likes it here and he was described as 'gracious' by our host.

Once we're settled in, we hit the streets and after a walk round Collins and Flinders and we take a look at the street art on Hosier Street - artist paint new graffiti every day and the tribute to the Bourke Street killings is especially poignant. Then we go back across the river to the Hockney Exhibition. This is an exhibition of his recent work, much of which has been done on iPhone and iPad so you can see the pictures develop before your eyes. Another Yorkie conquering the world.

Dinner is in Meat and Drink, just along the Yarra riverfront from the hotel. Now that I am an official wine buff, I'm tasting and sniffing and sipping various different Shiraz which go perfectly with a big steak. And, tomorrow is the start of the big tennis adventure and I am so excited!

A new day and two things happened before 8.00 this morning. One very good and one less so. So the bad news first... "Ouch!" My beloved's foot has swollen up like it did a couple of months ago and he is in pain. His walking at the start of the day was ok. But by mid-afternoon he was in a lot of pain. But that's getting ahead of ourselves.

The other thing was that I went for an early morning run which took me to Melbourne Park where the tennis is. It's so near the city centre (as is the MCG) that we can see the Rod Laver Arena from our bedroom window. I stopped at the entry to Melbourne Park and spoke to Terry (my new best friend by the way) who was one of the volunteers. I explained that we had come from the UK hoping to see Murray in the Men's Semi Finals but, as that was not to be, we wanted to see the last remaining Brit, Jo Konta, play Serena. We only had ground passes for today so could not get on to the show courts which are, of course, ticket only. No problem, he says, just go to the ticket office and change them. So an hour later, with ground passes and Big Foot's credit card, I return to Melbourne Park. Again, no problem, ground passes refunded against tickets in Rod Laver for the day session which is not only Konta/Williams, but also Dimitrov/Goffin. Seriously, can you imagine that at Wimbledon?!?

So after breakfast I return to Melbourne Park for the third time that day, gave Terry a cheery hello and we headed into the Aussie Open proper. Could any tennis event be less like Wimbledon? Plenty of room to move around, no massive crowds, no queues at food stands, deckchairs in front of big screens and everything is very chilled. Our first port of call after a long cold one is a girls match where a plucky Brit loses to someone ranked lower than her (ah, normal service is resumed...) and then into Rod Laver where Serena is warming up against Jo Konta. I would have expected the crowd to be pulling for Jo as she was born in Sydney but Serena clearly has a global fanbase even if I'm not a member. She does all the usual stuff, making her opponent wait after changing ends, faffing about on her service. Anyway she wins though it was closer than the score suggests. No more plucky Brits in the draw. Then after a brief pause for another cold one, it's Dimitrov and Goffin. Dimitrov is not nicknamed Baby Fed for nothing - his backhand is a thing of beauty and I am now officially a fan. Can he beat Nadal on Friday - well, doubtful, the way Nadal is playing but it will certainly be worth watching.

By the time we leave the tennis, my beloved is seriously hobbling and his foot is massively swollen. I think it's gout which he strenuously denies so we look for a water taxi to take us back to the hotel. It's a twenty minute walk but less than 10 minutes by boat. But the water taxi isn't there but there is a trishaw. A sturdy fellow offers to take us back to the Langham for twenty dollars and despite in imbalance in the back, we're off. Well, hats off to this guy, he has to give it his all in a very low gear to get us up the hills but on the flat and downhill we absolutely fly along with some theatrical weaving-about for comedy value. Home safe and with the resurgence of Rafa and Roger, I feel I am in a pre-Novak/Andy time warp. Bit weird really but I will be surprised if these two don't match up in the final.

Happy Australia Day! Except that it's a bit overcast and spitting with rain. So much for not needing a cardigan on this trip! Anyway, superb early morning run past the many boat houses on the Yarra (rowing is clearly a very big deal here) and over the bridge and back past Melbourne Park, pausing to say hi to Terry.

Back at the Langham - definitely one of the best hotels I've ever stayed in - the Big Foot does not look good and he's in pain so we opt for some water-based sightseeing, heading off down the Yarra on a 1924 river cruiser. We were hoping that Melbourne from the water would be as stunning as Chicago but that proves not to be the case though it's entertaining watching the Aussies setting up their Australia Day picnics on the side of the river. We think we do picnics - well, we are amateurs compared to this lot and the parks are equipped with electric bbqs so you can just rock up and cook your food.

On our return we are met by friends all the way from North Rigton who are also in Australia to do a grand tour. They are driving from Melbourne to Perth, making our drive down the Great Ocean Road look very modest by comparison. Their's is over 2000 miles! Lunch is deemed to be a five hour event  though I am steady on the wine because I do not want to fall asleep during Roger and Stan. We finally pack up just before six o'clock and wearing my AO t-shirt we head to Melbourne Park. We need plenty of time because the foot is massively swollen and the twenty minute walk is not feasible. We get the water taxi and zip zap, we're there in ten minutes.

We actually get to the Rod Laver arena so early that we see Rod himself being awarded an Australia Day honour. And then it's the big match. The roar from the crowd when Roger Federer, alias GOAT* walks on court is huge and actually Stan Wawrinka gets a similar sized roar but once play begins there's no prizes for guessing whom the crowd is supporting. The match is incredibly tight and though both players take medical times-out (Roger later quipping that he only took one because Stan had!) no one would bet against this being a five setter. The tennis is sublime and it's a truly stunning match including a hot dog from Federer (he didn't win the point but it was very entertaining) and a total racquet smashing from Stan. (His mother needs to have a word with him about that).

By the time we set off home it was nearly midnight. There were no water taxis or trishaws to be had and, surprisingly considering it was Australia Day, the bars and restaurants were closing up so we walked/hobbled back to the hotel. What a great day! I love Melbourne!

*greatest of all time

The Grand Slam Plan - "I come from Yorkshire..."

This morning's run is a hot one. Overnight the temperature has soared by 10 degrees and even at 8.30 am it's a scorcher. The city is buzzing because today is the Tour Down Under - the Aussie equivalent of the Tour de France and it finishes here in Adelaide. My run takes me down to the start/finish and food stalls are set up in the park with plenty of stuff for the kids.

Once I'm back and showered we head out for breakfast at the Adelaide Gallery where we can sit outside in the shade and read the papers whilst enjoying a modest breakfast. Then it's off to the Press Photography Exhibition at the State Museum. The photographs are inspirational - from sport to war, refugee crises to medical triumphs - definitely worth a look. Meanwhile, outside, the temperature is climbing into the mid-thirties.

Heading through the crowds in the park for the cycling, we cross the river to the Adelaide Oval. Five minutes on foot from the city centre - now that's the place to put a stadium. It's a really magnificent stadium and we decide - well, I do - that we'd like the tour. But because of the cycle race, a rather serious (grumpy) young man in charge says that there will be no more tours today. Now, you will know that I don't take 'No' very kindly so whilst my man with the camera went for a wee, I headed into the other office - this one offers roof top tours. Now I don't want to put on a climbing suit and boots but I do want to go up top and take a photograph so here's how it goes...

"Hi, can you help me? I've come all the way from Yorkshire - the home of cricket, home of Joe Root and Tim Bresnan. My son loves cricket and we just want to go up high enough in the stands to take a photograph. Can you take us?... Please?... Are you crumbling yet?" He crumbled. He took us up to the top of the stands to take some great pics. It was pointed out to me by my travelling companion that I had completely embarrassed myself but at least I didn't get as far as Geoffrey Boycott.

By the time we get outside it is properly roasting. We walk back up through the packed streets and decide that rather than boil in the heat to watch the cyclists go past in a nano-second, we will pack our bags and drive up the coast. The city sprawls unattractively for miles along the coast and whereas the centre of the city and the residential areas are charming, the miles and miles of discount stores, casinos, fancy dress shops (yes, really!) and tyre warehouses are depressing, but eventually we arrive at Wilunga - a lovely family beach of almost Portuguese proportions where we toast in the sun before joining the flocks of Adelaide weekenders eating at the Star of Greece. Delicious salt and pepper squid with chips and salad in the sun.

Then we wibble our way back along the coast road, rather than the main road, to the city. Too full and too tired to eat out we find the hotel guest laundry and do the necessary but we do make a short outing to Scrolls, just behind the hotel. Scrolls is a Vietnamese ice cream parlour where you choose the flavour of your ice cream and they make it before your very eyes on the freezing equivalent of a griddle, pouring cream onto the frozen surface which immediately freezes. Then it gets wrapped into scrolls, hence the name, and put into a pot. Delicious!

Night all!

Monday is the designated wine tasting day - yes, another one! - and without even pausing for brekkie we are on the road to the Barossa Valley and wine heaven. As soon as we reach an area where vines grow on both sides of the road for as far as the eye can see, one of us becomes very excitable!

First it's time to stop for brunch or 'carb-up' big style. The little town of Lyndoch lies near Humbug Scrub Hill (seriously contemplating renaming our home and environs with so many great names here)  and boasts a sweet coffee shop which does an excellent French toast and fruit and a lot of cooked breakfast options to fill even the largest tums. While we are parking the car, I notice a lot of knitting...?! On telegraph poles, bins, road signs...woolly mice, spiders, striped scarves and even SpongeBob SquarePants! Once we've ordered, I have to ask the waitress what it was all about. Yarnbombing, apparently, in honour of the Tour Down Under. Remember all those yellow jerseys folks knitted in Yorkshire - well, similar but more random. Yarnbombing - I like the idea! It would make a change from the Scarecrow Festival...

Then it's back on the road to find the first of the wineries recommended by the waitress in the tapas bar. Miles and miles of vines, interspersed with the occasional small town and signs identifying which winery we are passing. Finally we luck on Tscharke which was the most highly recommended and spend an hour tasting at this organic winery in the company of Skye whose tattoos and piercings might suggest to you that she wasn't a wine expert. Appearances can be deceptive - she was very knowledgable indeed and there is a danger that I am turning into Gilly Goolden - 'I'm tasting red fruit, burnt sugar, toffee, turkish delight' - yes, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Meanwhile, the proper wine buff in the partnership is asking all the intelligent questions about irrigation and composting! Skye looks at our list and sends us on to Sieber Wines which is beautiful and our host very welcoming.

Even the boss agrees that two wineries is enough and we head back to Adelaide using the 'path less travelled'! Now, this seriously drives Mavis, the sat-nav, round the bend - literally! We've been on dirt tracks, single track roads and the sides of gorges. At one point, looking for a town called Cudlee Creek we are sent down a No Through Road where the gate at the end had been spray painted with the word Fools! Clearly this is a regular sat-nav meltdown spot!

Back at the hotel we discover that in Adelaide, not a lot is open on a Monday night and every restaurant we check out on the internet isn't open. Then we find Hide 'N Seek, a Thai restaurant not far away where the decor is basic but the food sublime. Crying Tiger (probably Weeping Tiger back home) is superb. More ice cream on the way home? Well, I don't mind if I do - this is, after all, the ice cream capital of Australia.

Tomorrow we move on the Melbourne and even without Murray, I am properly excited!

The Grand Slam Plan: Part 2 - "Closer each Day, Home and Away"

Waking up on Thursday morning and it's not sunny! That's not in the plan. But it's warm with a light on-off drizzle so we head out early for a swim at the beach just down the road. I'm a habitually early riser so actually staying with folks for whom a 6.00 or 6.30 start is the norm is perfect for me. The big beaches, Bondi or Manly, are very busy by 7.00am and there are a few swimmers, walkers and yoga fans already on this little beach. We had swum here yesterday and the temperature of the water can be described best as 'Oooh... Now that's ok'. Once you're in, it's pleasant.

The homes built around the beaches are stunning and each bay, beach, inlet and harbour has its own eclectic selection of houses with stunning views across the water. The artist Ken Done lives here overlooking this beach. When we came here 30 years ago, we loved his paintings and bought a poster which hung on our bathroom wall for many years. Coincidence!

Today's plan is to drive out of the city to Palm Beach, one of the northern beaches and known to the residents of our home in Yorkshire as Summer Bay in Home and Away. Indeed the surf club and shop are logo'd up accordingly with Alf Stewart's name, ready for filming. Above the beach is the lighthouse and we make the steep climb to the top of the hill to take in the great view. Then it's an even steeper climb down by the shorter but more perilous route for a well-earned steak sandwich.

This is a fit, outdoor life and our host, having only cycled to pick up the car from the ferry this morning wants to swim lengths in one of the pools adjacent to the various beaches so I plunge in too and swim further than I've swum in a long time. It eases my conscience for the dinner ahead. Tonight's dinner is at the Bathers Pavilion and it's more fabulously fresh fish - huge mussels for me and barunda for the others.

Our final morning starts with a drive to Manly to see  the Big Swim - a sort of aquatic version of the Park Run. But there are 'bluebottle' signs on the beach - not insect bluebottles but small, very stingy blue jellyfish - so there's no swim but we have a bracing walk along the beach. It's buzzing with activity - runners, walkers, volleyball, yoga - and it's still only 7.00am. I could get used to this!

Then all too soon, it's time to say goodbye to Sydney and make our way to the airport for our flight to Adelaide. The traffic in the city is heavy and we make it with little time to spare and too much luggage. The ground hostess lets us off the hook for being overweight but there will be purge of some of the crap that the man who does not travel light will have to jettison before we fly to Melbourne in a few days' time.

Massive thanks to our top hosts and tour guides. Good times with old friends! Visit us in the UK sometime soon!

Adelaide

Driving into the city, the contrast between the bustling, busy roads of Sydney and the leafy avenues of Adelaide is stark. It's Friday teatime and it feels like a Sunday afternoon stroll. We've gone in a short flight from massive high rise to a city where few buildings top the height of the trees that line the streets and adorn the acres of parkland. The city is built on a grid making map-reading a bit of a breeze.

The Majestic Roof Garden Hotel on Frome was recommended by Mr and Mrs O'Polo and it's a good choice being centrally located. Having had a somewhat sedentary afternoon, I needed to run so deciding to pass on the Park Run in the morning, I head out on to the streets to do the Park Run route (plus a bit) in the relative cool of the evening whilst the boss does a big conference call with base camp in the UK. There is something magic about running on unfamiliar streets, especially when it's flat (hurray!) and the city has a grid system - count across, count down and you won't get lost. Through the Park and down to the Adelaide Oval over bridges and along water-lined paths, this is a charming city and for once, I feel like I can run and run - good times!

Having been unable to remember where we had booked for dinner but knowing it was around the corner from the hotel, we've now booked into Andre's Cucina where we have the tasting menu. Wow! This town is rightly called a gourmet paradise if this place is anything to go by. Would I ever order swordfish carpaccio in the UK? Probably not, but that and the lamb shank with gnocchi was a taste sensation.https://www.andrescucina.com.au

The next morning, somebody is very excited... The Penfolds Winery VIP tour is booked and the one who is always late gets us there 45 minutes early! There are six of us on the tour led by Joe who grew up in London. His tour is detailed and fascinating from the wines' early beginnings where their use was prescribed as medicinal to producing half of the wine of Australia. Then we have the tasting and, surprise, surprise, my favourite is a 2012 Shiraz that retails at over £70 a bottle - always knew I was a woman of taste!

Having properly indulged the wine buff, we can then go to Cleland Wildlife Conservation Park to cuddle a koala and feed a kangaroo. Cleland lets you walk amongst the animals, pet koalas, have bandicoots and wallabies run around your feet and hand feed kangaroos at close quarters rather than through a fence. Then time to go back to Adelaide for a tapas supper where the waitress was super helpful about which vineyards were worth visiting. Seems everyone here is a wine buff...

We've packed a lot into today... Time for bed. 

The Grand Slam Plan

As a die hard (with a vengeance!) tennis fan, watching top quality players all over the world has long been an ambition of mine - and especially going to the Slams. Wimbledon was fairly easy to achieve, though based on recent experience there seem to be more hoops to jump through actually to get through the hallowed portals than most, of which more later. Then quite a few years ago, my beloved surprised me with a trip to the red clay of Roland Garros for the French Open which was a fantastic and gastronomic experience (definitely the best food) apart from the attempted kidnap late at night by a Chinese taxi driver on the way back to the hotel! In 2010 we combined a trip to stay with good friends in Annapolis with Flushing Meadow which was a totally different experience with all the noise and bustle of New York City transferred courtside. Each Slam was a quite different and massively enjoyable experience. That left just one more...

We originally thought we would make it to Melbourne to our final Slam in January 2015 when our last two children finally left school and home and were safely installed at university. But January 2015 was the very bottom of the birdcage health-wise and there was no going anywhere. January 2016 then marked the midpoint between the wedding of child number 2 and the wedding of child number 1 and for major understandable financial reasons, there was to be no trip last year.

But finally on January 15th 2017 we finally set off on our epic trip to return to Australia after 30 years, with men's semifinals tickets booked at the Aussie Open. I am so used to our children gallivanting and me being at home, holding the fort, so to speak, so this required instructions to the offspring before I could safely relax and go: 'Stay safe, children. Number 1: don't get hurt playing rugby, numbers 2 and 3: drive 5 mph slower than normal and imagine I'm in the passenger seat, and number 4: you'll be brilliant tomorrow - I absolutely know it!'

This is our story...

Sitting at Heathrow watching my beloved quaff his first and second glasses of fizz at 6.00am I had a major moment of the stretching of the umbilical cord. Yes they all got messages reminding them to drive safely, in fact, stay safe generally, and that I love them more than life itself. Bit teary...

Now here's a whole new experience for me (or, it's so long since it happened that I can't remember) getting on a plane and 'turning left'. Our first flight is to Doha with Qatar and it's the shorter one of the two legs. My beloved is directly in front of me in business class enjoying in-flight internet access and I'm right behind enjoying two movies and the new Jack Reacher is a winner. Yes, I know that Lee Child readers are aware that Jack Reacher is supposed to be built like a brick sh*****se and have a buzz cut but Tom Cruse has bought the rights to all Jack Reacher novels as films because he loves the character and he makes a jolly good fist of it.

As we flew in over Doha you can see gas and oil refineries and sand, and not a great deal else but the airport is very swish with more watch and handbag shops than you can shake a stick at. Like most airports, you could have been in any country in the world. Either the pound is shot, or this is a very expensive place to shop so we browsed as a way of getting some exercise and my beloved briefly contemplated the purchase of a drone!

As we trundle down to our gate, we are encouraged to take a different gate entrance from the hoi polloi (oh, this is the life!) with no queue and once through the bag check our tickets are taken away and new ones issued with no explanation. "We're in row 18" says the one who booked everything but the tickets say row 2 and we have mysteriously been upgraded to First! Now this really is the life!

One of us ate his second dinner at a beautifully laid table in front of him and drank copious amounts of fizz and red wine and then promptly fell asleep upright with his film still running whilst my bed was made for me and I snuggled up in my Moschino pyjamas. So as I write, I have no idea what time it is in Sydney but in my world it's 8.00am. I'm washed and dressed in a bathroom only slightly smaller than the one at home and getting very excited. In case you're wondering, he is still in the same position as in the paragraph above, snoring quietly!

Happy landings!

Sydney

There's an automated passport check at Sydney airport. Insert your passport, collect the ticket and then move on to the next station where you stand on the footprints and have your picture taken. Normally I am the one who is stopped and frisked in airports, but today I zip-zap through and head to baggage collection, pausing only momentarily to read the poster about the symptoms of the zika virus. Included amongst the symptoms are sweaty fever and bloodshot eyes. Meanwhile, my beloved has not appeared but due to checking in to Party Central (the bar - all night as it turns out) on the plane he has the appearance of several of the symptoms of the zika virus.

Eventually he arrives - apparently the automated passport check just can't cope with sweaty chubsters in specs! Out in the arrivals area we have a moment's panic when there is no sign of our friends - and then they appear, all hugs and smiles and we're on our way to their lovely flat in Mosman.

Even though we've only just had breakfast on the plane, it's actually supper time in Sydney and the challenge is to go to bed at an appropriate time so that the body clock rights itself. My solution? Stay up till 1.00 am and hope for the best. Luckily I have lots of gossip to catch up on and there's tennis on the telly so it's no hardship. Meanwhile, the one who had partied all night on the plane is out for the count!

Our first proper day in Sydney is a scorcher. We head down for an early coffee with the son whose bedroom we have appropriated, then it's off on the ferry from Manly to Watsons Bay. Nice walk up to some of the amazing viewing points of the ocean and then a drink and some fabulous fish at the legendary Doyle's. Last time we were here was some 30 years ago and it hasn't changed. It's great to sit on the pavement outside and eat fantastically fresh fish in the sunshine listening to the waves lapping on the sand. There were a series of letters in the Telegraph a while ago about finding an appropriate onomatopoeic word for the sound the sea makes as it sucks the sand back into the ocean - can't remember what those folks who write to the Telegraph came up with but it's a truly great backing track to life on the shores of Sydney harbour.

Wednesday night saw us taking the ferry into the centre of Sydney - the best way to see the city is undoubtedly from the water - and going for a drink at the Opera Bar. Young and buzzing, it's almost under the eves of the Opera House and looking across to Harbour Bridge. I have to pinch myself - we are really here!

Life here starts early (when it's cool enough to do stuff in the summer) and for fellow middle-agers like us it finishes early too. So quick pasta/pizza and it's back to Mosman with just time to check on British progress in Melbourne before bed. Think my body is on Aussie time now.

Zzzzzzzzz....

2016 - Well, who'd have thought it!

One of the joys of this online, share-with-chums-and-other-interested-parties diary is that I can look back at previous New Year ramblings and reflect how things turned out, which is not always as I had expected. For example, in 2013, I went out on New Year's Eve muttering darkly about the discomfort of wearing a Maria Sharapova wig as it was a Russian-themed event. How prophetic, when I spent large parts of 2014 wearing an uncomfortable wig for a different reason.

This year has turned out to be year of incredible highs and lows both domestically and on the wider stage. Things have happened outside our little world which surely few could have predicted and if Ed Balls had won Strictly that would have been entirely in keeping with the rest of the madness which was largely the result of enfranchised responsibility being gifted to, in the words of child Number 2 'people who watch or appear on Jeremy Kyle, or indeed any other daytime television reality show' both this side of the pond and the other.

Anyway back to things at home. The high point of this year (and last year, though that was a different daughter) was The Big Wedding when number 1 and her lovely Valentine organised and executed a really fabulous day/weekend of festivities for their nuptials. Even looking back at the photographs from that day makes me a bit teary. It was awesome. This was bookended by two very, very good short breaks - the first to Marrakech for my not-insignificant (the sort with a 0 at the end!) birthday in February and then to Rome immediately after the wedding with our dear friends Nige and Sarah who were just about to emigrate to Cyprus. Precious times with friends who live a long way from God's Own Country now.

This was always planned to be something of a gap year for me. Now fully in control of my passport, we tried really hard to get the full family team out to Portugal in June but Number 1 was then treading the boards at the Royal Court with Dr Who so she and my new son-in-law couldn't join us but the rest of the family more than made up for their absence.

Then I had a surprising role to fill myself at the wedding of my goddaughter in Guernsey. Thinking this would be a no-responsibility event for moi, I was stunned when my goddaughter/the bride asked me to make a speech on her behalf - the one the father of the bride usually takes on. Nerves?! Standing on my feet in front of the assembled guests, I realised that most of them had attended Cambridge or Oxford and probably everyone in the room had at least one degree... apart from me. No pressure then!

The summer wouldn't be complete without a few days with the singing, dancing doctors in Mallorca and having drunk, danced, played padel tennis and karaoke'd, Number 3 and I headed home to recover. Then my beloved and I jetted off to Turkey to Apartment Antonia http://apartmentantoniakalkan.co.uk with Number 2 and JS who had made this momentous purchase earlier in the year (Wow! we have children who own property abroad!) and we had a chilled week getting to know Kalkan and enjoying their wonderful hospitality.

The autumn was full of rugby - Newcastle Falcons, England, Fiji, Australia, Ireland - and a trip to the O2 to watch the end of season tennis finals. We packed our home with friends on three consecutive weekends as well and felt ourselves running towards the festive season in a haze of exhaustion. We've had a cracking year, topped off by close friends becoming grandparents for the first time - a big welcome to Joshua Robert, can't wait to meet him!

As for the stuff going on outside the patch we call home: Brexit - madness! Lordy, I hope someone is holding the tiller. It doesn't feel like it. The worst gamble a politician has made in decades. Earlier in the year, meeting up with friends who live in Annapolis, I said: 'Surely Trump won't get the nomination?' My friend refused to ease my fears and quite rightly. I don't like extremes in politics - anyone who's read a history book covering the last century will know that this doesn't normally end well.

And the Grim Reaper, well, he's been running amok in the world of entertainment. The first concert I ever went to aged 16 was David Bowie and I can still remember how he performed the Jean Genie. He was electric. And Alan Rickman, one of my favourite actors who never picked a bad film and completely stole Robin Hood Prince of Thieves from Kevin Costner. And now George... we were lucky enough to see him in concert twice - an extraordinary talent but I suspect an unhappy soul.

But there was sport aplenty to enjoy and applaud and be proud of being a Brit. Really we do punch above our weight as a country but only if the Union holds. For me, one of the worst aspects of Brexit (and there's quite a few to choose from) is that this might break the Union which has held since 1603. Politicians on both sides of Hadrian's Wall bear a huge responsibility - let's hope the girls can get it sorted.

In the meantime, let's enjoy our rich and diverse nation, our differences and our shared interests and look forward to cementing our place in the world rather than smashing at it with all the sensitivity of a toddler with a hammer. Happy New Year!

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!

This Christmas I know I am greatly blessed. Not only am I healthy (a big deal for me) and I am looking forward to hitting the jackpot on my bucket list in January with a trip to the other side of the world, but, most importantly I have all my children home for Christmas. When your children are young, you can't imagine that there will ever be a time when they won't be coming home for Christmas but now we know that the years when they are all with us will be rare and therefore to be cherished. In the years to come they may be working or traveling or with their in-laws - and quite rightly so. And I never want to be the parent who makes a big fuss when they can't come home. But I do appreciate it very much when they can. And since my two married daughters have shown excellent taste in their choice of husbands they are wonderful additions to our family festivities.

It's funny that through all the Christmases at our little home, it's the ones where things have not quite gone to plan that are the ones that we remember. The one where the village postmistress joined us for Christmas dinner. She was recently widowed and would otherwise have spent Christmas alone and we couldn't have that. So she arrived looking elegant in smart dress and high heels having driven down our muddy, rutted lane, which was, incidentally, muddier and more rutted in those days - yes, hard to believe but true!  When she left, sometime later having enjoyed a festive feast and quite a few glasses of wine, darkness had fallen.  We then set about the mammoth task of clearing up the debris. After about ten minutes there was a knock at the door. The postmistress had returned, slightly dishevelled and rather muddy wearing only one shoe! She had missed the track near the cattle grid in the field beyond our own where the cows had cut up the ground to a miresome stew and got her car stuck in the mud. She had then got out and had lost one of her shoes in the mud! My beloved returned her to her car having got it out of the mud though we didn't find her missing stiletto until the next day but it was all in one piece and apparently had not been worn by any of our bovine friends! 

The other memory that is always front of mind at Christmas concerns my in-laws. Not having been first choice (or any other choice, come to that) of my beloved's now late mother for the position of daughter-in-law, the years (i.e. every other year, at the very least) when they visited us were always more stressful. I would be desperate for the house to be immaculate, the food perfect, the children spotless and minding their ps and qs etc. One year, all of the above had occurred and wonderful smells were emanating from the oven, the house tidy and the children on their best behaviour as I took the ocelot fur and sheepskin coat from the aforementioned in-laws. My beloved offered them a glass of fizz which was promptly accepted and he set about filling the ice bucket to pop the bottle in. He had, earlier in the week, filled a number of sandwich boxes etc with water and frozen them so the lumps of ice were very large - too large, in fact, to fit into the ice bucket. So he set about smashing the ice in the sink. Now for those who don't know, we are a non-dishwasher house (it's a long story, don't ask) so we wash up by hand in the sink. I was chatting politely to the in-laws when I heard a massive crash which turned out to be the bottom of the sink cracking in two and falling through the bottom of the kitchen unit. In my head, I worked silently through the entire and very extensive range of expletives in my vocabulary and smiled at the assembled family as if nothing terrible had occurred. We washed up in a bucket until the first week in January that year. 

One of my favourite parts of Christmas when the children were young was reading A Child's Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas before they went to sleep on Christmas Eve. We still read it every year except that now everyone reads a few pages. It's a reminder of the magic of Christmas and I love the skating postman and Mrs Prothero and the cats. Special moments on a hectic day when the television is turned off and we are 'just us' with no outside distractions. The other part of Christmas Day when the twins were little that was always my best moment on Christmas Day was when the children would all jump on our bed on Christmas morning with their stockings, so full of excitement that Santa had so brilliantly chosen gifts that they loved and wanted - even if they hadn't known before that they wanted them. The older two absolutely played along with this till long after they had gone to university. 

So I will be not counting my blessings on Christmas Day because there are just too many but I will remember how fortunate I am. You only have to turn on the news to be reminded how lucky and how privileged we all are. I wish you all good health, family and friends and most of all,

peace this Christmas.

And in case you would like to read the charming story by Dylan Thomas, here's the link: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-child-s-christmas-in-wales/

Numbers 4 and 3, JS and number 2 already in festive mood! Just waiting for number 1 and her husband, the intrepid granny and the maiden aunts for the full festive team 2016 (and me and him, of course!)