Floriade 2022: Canberra’s Paris Fashion Week for Flowers

It’s that time of year again — when an epic public event in Canberra bursts into bloom and turns garden beds into catwalks. Floriade 2022 is here. Think Paris Fashion Week, but for flowers. And yes, the tulips are absolutely serving looks.

Canberra’s iconic spring flower show transforms the city’s lake centre into a month-long spectacle each September and October, with millions of blooms on display. Locals emerge from their winter hibernation, while tourists descend en masse to witness this blooming runway of seasonal trends - from classic tulips to fringe florals making their debut.

I arrive on a grey Saturday afternoon, but the overcast skies do nothing to dull the brightness ahead. The flowers are ready to smell, and so are the cheerful volunteers, doubling as walking info kiosks. There's no official sign declaring it, but the unspoken rule is clear: take photos — lots of them.

Right at the gate, tulips are perched in tough steel wheelbarrows — proving once again that they’re the supermodels of the flower world. As the saying goes, tulips would look good even in a garbage bag. No blue sky required — their joy shines through on any canvas.

The star of the show? Tulips -  the Dior of the flora world. They're everywhere: popping from bunches, bursting from beds, overflowing from wheelbarrows, and printed on every kind of Floriade merchandise imaginable. Around them, a pretty supporting cast of pansies, poppies, hyacinths, and daisies bring depth and colour to the ensemble.

I make a pit stop at a cute teal-and-white café caravan, grabbing a coffee and sitting under giant black-and-white striped umbrellas. The soundtrack? What I assume is Australian country music — foot-tappingly good. From my seat, I catch a view of a tulip-lined walkway that doubles as a runway between the garden beds.

The flowers are the models, the garden beds their catwalk, and the red gravel paths their red carpet. Who needs Paris when you have this?

And this runway is busy. A woman sprints back to her tripod to snap a photo without herself in it. A family of ten poses in full colour-coordination (or lack thereof — bright seems to be the unspoken dress code). Teenagers take selfies. Adults take selfies. If dogs were allowed in, they’d be strutting through the beds snapping selfies too.

Instagrammers and fine art photographers alike lean in close for the perfect shot. First, a macro of a bloom. Then one with the Ferris wheel in the background. Then again, from another angle. Click. Adjust. Repeat. One child gets too close and is swiftly intercepted by a parent delivering a full-scale botanical lecture.

There isn’t an angle or lighting condition left unexplored. I can’t help but wonder how many of these already-striking flowers will be digitally altered before their Instagram debut. A little more contrast, a touch more saturation — as if nature needs filters. But hey, if it helps the local tourism industry, who am I to judge?

And while all this happens in Canberra, across the globe at Paris Fashion Week, Victoria Beckham drops her Spring 2022 Ready-to-Wear collection. Coincidence, or is there a whisper of Canberra tulip-core in her palette?

Because colour sells, and tulips know it.

Even cowboys watch the setting Hawaiian sun

It’s sunset on the world-famous Waikiki beach. Is it Monday, or a Thursday, I don’t know. Out on a concrete jetty, local teens are gathered in large groups down the end before individually flinging themselves off the seawall into the ocean below into a giant swell or as it breaks on the rock wall. 

Like the activities of teens anywhere in the world, the practice looks relatively unsafe. Their friends help them clamour up the wooden planks on the seawall so they can do it again.

A blue sign with white writing lists the beach rules. No boozing, no tents, no annoying tourist behaviour, that sort of thing. 

There is a preacher across the road preaching, reading from the Bible. He is being drowned out by the crashing of the surf on the shore and against the sea wall. This week is a super full moon which comes with very prominent tides and swells.

Up on the beach, a young man in mirrored sunglasses and orange swimming shorts jumps onto his tattered red hammock that is perfectly roped between two robust palm trees. Like a cowboy jumping on the back of his mount, he is ready to ride off into the sunset. He has no spurs but there is a pair of sandals neatly placed at the base of one of the trees. He kicks the ground to send the hammock into a low swing. The trade winds will keep it going. Did I mention he is wearing a black cowboy hat?

It’s windy tonight and sea breezes are already working the beach. The persuasive palm trees along this stretch of sand dutifully sway for all the hammocked cowboys and the tourists, their soulful influence mesmerising all beach comers and beachcombers. Their coconuts heavily fortified to avoid any accidents that would make a tourist’s stay in Waikiki even more unforgettable.

It may well be a controlled psychological effect, but I hear a gentle melodic ukulele everywhere I go in Waikiki, or it might be the ukulele shops I have spotted along the strip that sell the popular Hawaiian musical instrument.

On the jetty a trio of teenagers from Oahu are filming for their YouTube channel. That morning they decided to ask strangers to give them money for completing challenges as requested by the strangers for payment, so they could earn enough money for airfares to neighbouring Maui the next day. They are dripping wet, as they have each just jumped off the jetty for USD$5 each. They are USD$40 short of their target when I ask them.

There are all sorts on the beach – some wrapped up in their own romantic love story, oblivious to other tourists, some sitting alone, some with others, some chatting, some sitting together quietly. The fading blue hues change to yellows and pinks as the sun plays hide and seek behind low clouds and all heads turn its way. It’s strange when you think that all healthy eyesight advice tells you not to look at the sun and then you hit a certain time of the day where you are encouraged to look at the beautification of the sun while it disappears.

The sun is playing peek-a-boo now, challenging the photo taking capabilities of hundreds of iPhone users on the beach. There are tourists watching from their balconies right along the strip. Lots of selfies, lots of photos. 

As the sun peeps out for its final decline, many a tourist’s hands reach up to pretend to embrace or cup the sun in the palm for photos, like a giant interpretative sun dance. And then it is gone and many leave the beach for other activities, and the Maui trio walk off and head into Subway. They will all likely be back tomorrow.

Coles and IKEA recruiting through creative promotions

I have gotten into the spirit of ‘consumerism through children’ with the latest of Australian retailer, Coles', collectable series, which is promoting its new Harry Potter range. 

The Coles Magical Builders are cardboard cut-outs of all the characters from the Harry Potter and the Fantastic Beasts cashcow empires, with the catch (for grown-ups) is you have to assemble them yourself. They come separately swathed in tiny tough cardboard flatpacks with instructions for their assembly on a tiny piece of paper. It’s like miniature IKEA. The instructions are impossible to see and also not terribly helpful but I am also impressed that they produce so little paper wastage.

With a resolve to demonstrate that I have the dexterity and cognitive function of a six year old, I decided to put one together. As it turns out, only tiny fingers can pop out the tiny cardboard fragments of arms and legs and owl wings and wizard beards. 

As ever with activities that are designed for children, I generally require child supervision to work out how to troubleshoot, but not on this occasion! I stabbed those diminutive suckers out using a sharp kitchen knife.

I’m guessing Coles aren’t considering my requirements in their customer base. Speaking of IKEA and companies that know their base, the Swedish megabrand have recently put “career instructions” inside their IKEA products that are labelled “how to assemble your furniture” in a push to recruit people who use IKEA products, which resulted in thousands of applicants and a whole bunch of people were hired who liked and used IKEA products. Hire your brand’s current customers and ambassadors  – good idea. What would also be a good idea would be to put in these boxes ‘how to actually assemble your furniture – like, some actual instructions”. Anyway.

So perhaps, with that in mind, and with the ol’ tradie shortage around areas of Australia that aren’t currently undertaking emergency disaster restorations, Coles perhaps should be looking for future tradies and engineers through this current tiny cardboard promotion. 

If you can assemble the tiny Ron Weasley character without the instructions (or even with the instructions) and you’re only seven, of if can assemble it to put Dumbledore’s head on his knees (but deliberately), then you have just won yourself a fast-tracked carpentry career. Very fast-tracked. Faster than a speeding Japanese superman bullet train. Anyway, there’s some foods for your thoughts, Coles. 

Cinema advertising and the leading genres in movie blockbusters

If you spend a while in the foyer of a major cinema you’ll notice that the movie-making industry really applies itself to the cause of persuading you to buy things, and its efforts are quite productive. 

The ice creamery promotes peace, love and ice cream, with a deeply held predilection that you just buy the ice cream. I feel the need, the need to buy ice cream (an artistic depiction of an iconic Top Gun quote for the two people in the world who may have not seen the cult classic).

The good old fashioned games machines work the room entertaining young children as they contest game after game. People are buying popcorn in ten litre buckets overpowered with butter on the inside and movie marketing on the outside. Even the cinema advertiser advertises itself on a wall monitor. It’s the hustle. 

Some patrons stand back, deep in group negotiations, staring at the electronic boards assessing movies times, personal schedules, movie lengths. They are doing maths. Maths is hard and fraught with danger and should be rewarded with popcorn. Cinemas know this. Two people bolt through the foyer with popcorn. They are late for the start of their movie, but they at least have popcorn, and considerable balance and coordination.

And then the foyer falls quiet. Quiet enough for a moment to hear distant reverberations from cinematic enthusiasm and you can feel the aftershocks through the floor if you are close enough to the action. A cinema foyer is an entertainment gateway and an advertiser's dream.

A movie has finished! Patrons trickle out, gesturing with vast hand movements and excitedly recreating and refashioning portions of the movie script. It undoubtedly was Top Gun: Maverick. Someone alert Tom Cruise; the fans have gone wild. Don’t worry – I think he knows.

His movie has just clocked over USD$1.1 billion of box office sales. It currently sits at the 29th highest grossing film of all time, but likely to crawl higher up that list. Since opening globally in May/June this year, his movie has 51% share of the U.S domestic and worldwide markets, which means folks are heading out in droves to see Tom and his planes.

I feel the need, the need to see this movie.

In movie blockbuster terms, you could reason that  the action genre (encapsulating tales of utter and colossal disaster and Thor) would hold supreme, with the highest gross film of all time (Avatar), the Jurassic series, the Avengers and all manner of other super heroes and now Top Gun in its stables. But this isn’t the case. 

 

Market share for movie genres from 1995-2022 shows that adventure has actually been the number one genre, followed by action, drama  and comedy.

The adventure genre is heavily dominated by distributors Walt Disney and 20^th Century Fox, who are both unrelenting in exploiting their legendary cash cows that include Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Spider-Man, Hunger Games, Toy Story, Pirates of the Carribean. 

However, at the mid mark of the 2022, it is indeed the action genre (57% of market share) that is leading the pack in blockbusters, with adventure (19%) straggling in its wake. Maybe it’s more Covid-19 fallout, with less adventure movies being made during the last few years. 

Alas, for your noting, if you are thinking of directing an educational movie, please know it traditionally earns 0% market share. Maybe lob some fighter planes in there and email Mark Ruffalo to see if he’s available for a cameo.

Bath in Somerset - rubber duck not included

Bath, Somerset, England.
An ancient city dressed in honey-coloured Georgian elegance, steeped in Roman history, and proudly listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It’s the sort of place where the past isn’t just preserved—it’s parked on every street corner like a politely stationary time machine.

Hop-on-hop-off tourist buses weave through the city, and if you find yourself on the open-air top deck during a downpour, you’ll notice something delightfully practical: plug holes. Yes, real drains to stop rainwater from pooling like—well, like a bath.

I’m fairly certain all open-top buses have them, but the quiet delight of noticing this in a city literally named Bath felt like the sort of accidental poetry that stays with you. Sadly, no rubber duck floated by.

Before you even arrive in Bath, you must pass through Somerset, the county that surrounds it. It's comprehensively lovely—quintessentially English in the way postcards promise. 

Picture rolling green hills, a lattice of hedgerows, and vast pastures. People have been calling this area home since the Paleolithic era (think Fred Flintstone), followed by the Celts, Romans, and Anglo-Saxons—each leaving a footprint in the soil or stone.

A short hop away, Cheddar Gorge offers not just stunning scenery but serious archaeological cred. It’s home to Cheddar Man, the UK’s oldest complete human skeleton, dating back to 7,150 B.C. (No, not made of cheese, in case that crossed your mind). 

Meanwhile, Glastonbury—home to the famously muddy music festival—sits on what’s known as a "dry point," meaning it's one of the few flood-free bits of ground in the area. Irony noted.

Back in Bath, the Royal Crescent stands as one of the finest examples of Georgian architecture in the country—a graceful arc of 30 terraced houses, all uniform yet grand, and listed as Grade I, which in UK terms means: do not mess with it.

Across town, the Roman Baths offer a glimpse into ancient spa culture. In Roman times, a day wasn’t complete without a good steam, a communal soak, and perhaps a bit of philosophising about empire over hot water. It was muscle recovery meets mindfulness—a wellness trend about two millennia ahead of its time.

The city’s spa tradition hasn’t gone cold. In 2021, Bath was added to the UNESCO list of Great Spa Towns of Europe, celebrated for their natural mineral springs. One wonders about the modern infrastructure behind it all—filtration systems, maintenance budgets, the quiet toil of keeping ancient rituals hygienic.

Also worth noting: Uranus was discovered here. Yes, really. In 1781, local resident William Herschel spotted the planet from his backyard using a homemade telescope. It remains one of the more awkward astronomical announcements in history, but his Georgian house now serves as a museum, so everyone wins in the end.

Bath is a short train ride from London, but don’t make the mistake of trying to squeeze it into a day trip. There’s far too much to soak in.

 

Harrods - and that time they sold lions

Today the writing challenge is heading to one of the most celebrated department stores in the world, Harrods of London. It might not strictly meet the brief of places of historical significance, and I appreciate any concern you might have on the matter, and any confusion or inconvenience caused, but Harrods has a long history. And it’s my blog. Also, disclaimer, Harrods is absolutely my favourite. 

In term of shopping centres, it doesn’t get any more exclusive that Harrods, which has voted itself the “world’s most famous department store”, and who can disagree with the GOAT. 

The largest department store in Europe, it is the land of opulence and luxury, lavishness and magnificence, with more than 300 in-house departments in store, and 100,000m2 of fancy handbags, Prada gold clubs and all of the other fabulousness they stock on their shelves. They probably don’t call them shelves; that is too…..Sainsburys. They probably call then product royal mantels, or something. 

Harrods came from modest little beginnings, as everything must do at some point. In 1832, a wee London East End grocery store was established and named after its owner, Mr Harrod. Mr Harrod developed a business portfolio and had some stores about town, that sold various items for which Harrods is now synonymous, but on a much less grander scale. 

The site on which Harrods stands now became a key asset for Mr Harrod and sold perfumes, stationary, medicines and fruit and vegetables. It was not unusual to bump into Sigmund Freud or Oscar Wilde at the checkouts, with Freud psychoanalysing your shopping basket and determining that your Id is well and truly in charge of your grocery list.

Harrods was first to introduce an escalator, because you can’t have Mr Freud wasting all his thought time trying to negotiate stairs when he’s busy psychoanalysing customers. Speaking of psychotic, in the early days, Harrods used to also sell cocaine. In 1916, it used to sell a kit containing cocaine, morphine, syringes and needles, as a present to send to friends on the front in the war. 

And at one point, the store used live snakes to guard expensive jewellery and also introduced the selling of exotic animals including panthers, alligators and lions. Which is awful and extremely random but also so very Edwardian era. In more uplifting news, Harrods has a chip shop in its food and beverage enclave. 

It also has a fabulous souvenir gift store. I own one of Harrods signature items, a shiny olive green tote bag that they sell to the innumerable tourists who pass through the checkouts. I also own a grey one. I’m a sucker for this sort of stuff and have never met a London souvenir that I have not fell instantly in love with in a very serious way. I’ve got three pens that look like the London Buckingham Palace guards, and you press their fur hat to click the pen open. Adorable.

And here’s a cool thing. The new head honcho pastry chef at Harrods is an Aussie. Philip Khoury started working there in 2018 and in December 2021 he was appointed the boss of all things sweet tooth. What a gig! 

In this time, he has begun pioneering plant-based dessert, which he calls the “last frontier” of vegan cuisine, rethinking the traditional eggs and dairy based model as the holy grail of exceptional desserts. Apparently kicking out dairy from the recipe allows other flavours to pop. 

This is interesting, as the global plant-based food market is expected to reach $USD70 million in the next five years, and certainly is projected to double in the UK in that time. Presumably this is a calculated move by Harrods to play in the USD$7 billion plant-based food market (up from USD$5.5 billion in 2019) as consumers are more and more aware around issues relating to food sustainability and nutrition of the products they are consuming. And with up to 300,000 customers a day at its peak, Harrods has an influential role to play.

And if you are lucky enough to visit the beautiful, gargantuan money spinner that is Harrods, and need somewhere to park the Ferrari or the Vauxhall Astra, there is a single carpark nearby that you can buy for a cool £85,000, which is ostensibly about £84,995 more expensive than other parks in the area. 

It comes with a fob, CCTV, a water supply (unclear if they mean a tap, or an Agean Sea type body of water), and a 960 year lease. Yeah, I give the Ferrari engine three months before it blows, let alone 960 years. Or you can just take the Tube like the rest of London.

Egypt - and the big pyramid scheme

Today in my writing challenge of places of historical significance I’m heading to Egypt – which is exciting I guess, but I’m a little confused as to why I chose it. Do they have anything old antiquey, or ancienty? I guess I can take a look to see what I can find but, the last time I checked, they just had those giant Ikea triangles scattered around Giza.

Okay let’s hit up those wonders of Ancient Egypt, the tombs built for three different pharaohs – Ronald McDonald, Hamburlar and Grimace. I present to you… McDonald’s Cairo! Just kidding. 

There is currently no evidence, in prevailing archaeological theory, that Giza’s 4,500-year-old Pyramids, sitting on the ancient necropolis, are memorial structures for the three kings. But they look remarkable, and I feel like the view is unimprovable. The Pyramids look like they would have been an almost supernatural achievement for people to build thousands of years ago, but if really could not have been that hard because there is now one at a hotel in Las Vegas. 

“Being in a pyramid is like being on the internet. It’s full of people worshiping cats, writing on walls and using odd symbols” – The Internets

In Ancient Egypt, the Leader of the Central Government was the pharoah. There were about 300 of them over Egypt’s long history. He was in charge of the yearly rise and fall of the Nile, the fertility of the soil, the keeping of peace, and the fortunes of the army, and was also high priest of all temples, commander-in-chief of the army and head of state administration.

It’s a bit like the current French Government, where Emmanual Macron is charge of national defence down to who is going to fix a Normandy village’s potholes. But the pharoah mostly had minions to do all the work for him. In carvings the pharoah is portrayed as colossal - larger than life - which is to convey a message that they were important and powerful.

We know a lot about the everyday Ancient Egyptians. They lived beside the Nile River, some were poor, some were rich. They worked as farmers, clerks, government officials, craft workers, soldiers, traders, priests. They were foodies. They played games - possibly an early Nintendo, they sang songs - potentially did some rapping, and told bad jokes. They were religious. They made gorgeous building for their gods and made the gods offerings. They believed in life after death and taxes. They travelled. They traded and went to war with other countries.

They were family folk. They loved some of their neighbours, but not all of them. They used makeup and wore different hairstyles. Some were schooled and could read and write. Some went into the family trade. Sometimes they got sick with a toothache, broken bones, malaria and called in the doctor. They rarely lived more than 40 years. They shopped, they fished and hunted. They had pet dogs and cats and gazelles.

How do we know all this? Well not too many of them had Instagram so it’s largely through hieroglyphs; their ancient written and drawn communication method that some people have learnt to read. One day, in thousands of years, someone is going to come across an old Apple iPhone with a cracked screen and think, well they should have carved their thoughts onto a real wall rather than a Facebook feed, because this thing is broken and additionally rechargers haven't existed for 1,500 years. But I digress.

The way to read hieroglyphs was actually forgotten about for 1,000 or so years before Napoleon of France invaded Egypt and the Rosetta Stone was found, which described how to reach them and hieroglyphs were discovered again.

In Ancient Egypt times, people would place everyday and objects in their tombs that would be useful in the next life. If you were poor it might be some pots, but if you were Elon Musk it would furniture, weapons, food, jewellery, a few Teslas and Twitter.

Often they were looted, but some were so well hidden they are preserved to this day – like the pharoah Tutankhamun’s. 2000 of his possessions were in there, many made in gold, including his solid gold death mask (which sounds like something from the disco era). Tutankhamun was not even an important pharoah so we can only imagine what the powerful pharaohs had in their tombs.

Athens speak louder than words

Athens is the heart of Ancient Greece civilisation, with 5^th century BC landmarks just completely littering the place, so move along, nothing to see here.

Today we are heading over to the Acropolis (High city) of Athens, a stunning citadel that sits atop of a rock in the middle of the ancient city. The Acropolis dates back to 447 BC (5^th century BC thus 2,468 years thus 128,793 weeks ago*), and its Parthenon was dedicated to the Greek goddess Athena, the goddess of wisdom and warfare (the jury is out on whether those things go together).

The Acropolis contains the ruins of ancient buildings of great historical and architecture significance, with the Parthenon famously sitting in the centre. While the white marble of the Parthenon has suffered damage over the centuries its basic structure has remained stunningly intact. The structure consists of Doric (ancient Greek style architecture) columns and extremely detailed friezes (a fancy panel of decorations on the roof, but not like bunting) and pediments.

Over its lifetime it’s been used to store munitions, converted into a church and then a mosque, an army barracks, and has widely been looted and bombed. 

The Parthenon is known as a symbol of Athens political, economic and cultural superiority and its democracy, and was built to celebrate the victory over the Persians who had been occupying Athens. It was dedicated to Athena to thank her for her moral support and cheese and olive toasties she provided during the war.

The artwork that was saved in mostly in the Acropolis Museum in Athens.  Back in the day, an interior designer/sculpture was commissioned to decorate the newly established Parthenon. His team whipped up a set of classic Greek marble sculptures – now known as the Parthenon Marbles. 

In 1812, an English aristocrat – the 7^th Earl of Elgin – removed/bought about half of the surviving marbles (other half being in the Athens museum) in a potentially shady business deal, shipped them to Britain, and sold them to the UK Government. I’m just wondering about the shipping costs that Amazon would have charged for that, and what type of ship, and how long it took, and did they get bubble-wrapped for shipping? But that’s not important right now.

Anyway, fast forward to 2022, and a squabble continues between the Greek and UK Governments over who legally owns the Parthenon marbles (colloquially known as the Elgin Marbles), with Greece saying its Acropolis "is the only place you can admire them in context”, and the UK saying it legally acquired them in accordance with laws at the time of them been moved to UK, and probs won’t be giving them back.

Alright, well let’s keep moving through the Acropolis then and try not to get involved in any more international legal disputes. Is Greece looking after its ancient artifacts? One could certainly argue that the preservation of ancient ruins are better off in the gloved hands of museum curators, wherever those museums may be, than laying around the grounds of ancient ruins in Athens.

My mum visited the Acropolis in the 2000s and told me that the columns are just laying around everywhere and she was able to sit on one. 

While the aesthetic of the Acropolis’ skyline is iconic, one could also reason more could be done to prevent erosion of marble and structural damage of temples from acid rain. What about a giant tarp over the top? I don't know, obviously, but researchers must be looking into it surely.

Other things about Athens that are nice to know: 👇

It’s the oldest European capital – 3,400 years oldest 

The Ancient Olympics were never held in Athens – wait, what 

Athens had the first ever democracy, known as demokratia 

Athens has the most theatres in the world, more than Broadway and London’s West End combined 

During construction of transport lines to support the Athens 2002 Olympic Games, one of the greatest archaeological hauls of ancient artifacts were uncovered. How very Athens.

* if this maths is wrong let the record show that I don’t know maths. 

 

Space Travel

"We're here to make space travel more accessible to all", said uber-entrepreneur, Sir Richard Branson, the linchpin and cashcow of Virgin Galactic, a fierce competitor in the new billionaires space race. With seats on board starting at USD$450,000, it might do to wait until the sales.

With Australia slamming shut its international borders for an entirely indefinite period of time in a tough stance to reduce the spread of COVID-19, it's interesting to look at other options for travel that are just as exciting as earth-bound travel, and indeed alternative ways of getting there. Outer space! 

What news from the outer space world? Well, here’s a thing. Space rockets have been hurtling from earth up into the stratosphere, one billionaire after another. Richard Branson onboard his Virgin Galactic, Elon Musk sending up his SpaceX, and that other billionaire, Amazon founder and business magnate, Jeff Bezos, on his Blue Origin journey. Pew-pew-pew-pew-pew and then fighting each other with giant laser beams - pew-pew-pew-pew-pew. Oh wait, no sorry, that’s Star Wars. I regularly get confused between Star Wars and IRL.

HAVING SAID THAT, I note that the U.S. Military have recently shot down an intercontinental ballistic missile in outer space from an aircraft carrier based off the coast of Hawaii in a testing exercise, so hi there Star Wars.

All of these recent space launches (with the exception of the extremely non-televised US military exercise) have been televised on some type of platform – TV network, YouTube, even Facebook stories. 

It’s always entertaining during space shuttle launches when the commentators discuss how long it’s going to take them to get to their destination, as if 27.5 hours was a long time, as is the case for the 4 astronauts that Elon Musk’s SpaceX recently took to the International Space Station (ISS). 

Girl, that’s a medium-haul international travel jaunt for Australians. Sydney to London is 23 hours more or less, and that’s not including airport waiting time, stopovers, lost luggage, impromptu body cavity searches, immigration control and waiting for a shuttle, which takes at least another 18 hours.

While the ISS altitude is only 408 km from earth, it takes over a day to get there, due to the spinny, spinny, upside-downy nature of our planet (that’s science-y talk – don’t feel bad if you can’t keep up with the terminology).

So what do they do on their roadtrip to above and beyond?

Well first of all, it’s not a roadtrip. It’s very serious space mission business and if you don’t know that, you can’t go. 

Second of all, there’s the snacks. When I fly international on a long haul, or drive to the shops on a relatively shorter haul, I always take snacks. What snack do the astronauts take and at what point in the first hour do they eat them all?

As you’d expect from NASA, the criteria for developing space food is: safety, stability, palatability, nutrition, resource minimisation, variety, reliability, and usability. Sure, but they probably just have M&Ms, and kill some time - and get some exercise - by chasing the little suckers around the zero-gravity cabin.

Also, are there even any Starbucks on the way if you need a caffeine pick-me-up? Who gets to drive? Can you call shotgun? Assigned seating is absolutely very serious business on a long haul. There’s certainly a slew of questions that I think we all want answered before we’ll fork out 450 grand. 

In terms of timeliness, I suppose taking a space ship to the ISS is slightly faster than taking the train, but I certainly don’t think you shave off that much time. 

One advantage of flying away from earth is you don’t have to put up with our pesky airport rules - no ticket counters, no passport control, no immigration checking to see if you’re carrying any activated vegemite and no waiting for shuttles that never come (or is that just LAX).

It certainly seems like, statistically, it’s a lot safer travelling on a space ship than a commercial earth-bound airline, specifically when it comes to take off and landing. On a space ship, you are flung into space and then flung back into the ocean. Perfectly safe. 

Boeing research shows that takeoff and landing are statistically more dangerous than any other part of a commercial earth-bound airline flight, with 49% of all fatal accidents happen during the final descent and landing phases of the average flight, while 14% of all fatal accidents happen during takeoff and initial climb. 

It's certainly often surmised by flight attendants in their pre-flight safety message that the plane will in fact crash if you don't return your tray table to the upright and locked position after your meal. Absolutely no need for food trays in space travel; your food floats. See! Space travel is the future.

So can you buy a ticket to go into space? Well, yes. I don't know about the future of international earth-bound air travel but space tourism will soon be a thing I'm sure of it, but it may be a wiser financial investment to just watch Star Wars.

Cost: $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

 

Corin Forest - Snowman's land

Give Canberra the cold shoulder one day and head to the beautiful winter wonderland, Corin Forest, just 45 minutes out of the capital. Every winter, the snow castle's gates open to the public at Corin Forest, and you get to witness amazing snowmaking in action. If you go on the right day, you'll definitely get the Banff treatment, with lightly falling snow, dreamy white snow-covered mountains and fun questions from chill-dren like "where does snow go when it melts?" It's puddles. It goes into puddles, and dies forever.

Corin Forest possesses magical superpowers that allows it to create snow, absolutely created with aesthetics in mind specifically for an afternoon's entertainment for the chill-dren. Oh sorry, no, that's the plot of Frozen the movie. But it's really a very similar narrative.

The road out there is a comprehensively and reliably lovely dose of Australiana, and also very winding, and you'll know you're getting close to your destination when you are abruptly and irrevocably plunged into snowman's land, and you start to see the omnipresent snowmen/women/people perched precariously on car bonnets and roofs that are returning to Canberra as they swing around the mountainous bends. Thank the chill-dren for that.

Rules of engagement for having an extremely acceptable snow experience:

• Make your trip spontaneous. Watch the mountains and go on the day where you can actually see snow falling, because y’all are guaranteed some falling snow. Often it can melt quite quickly, or not settle at all, and then you'll just get mud. And maybe mad. At yourself. For not taking snow business more seriously.
  

• Plan ahead if you want to do any of the planned things, like booking ahead to get onto the SNOWPLAY or SKI AND RIDE if you don't want to disappoint your chill-dren. If you don't like your chill-dren, see previous dot point.
  

• What happens in the snow stays in the snow. Leave the snow at the snow. Don't put a snowman on your bonnet for the return trip to Canberra. Don't be that person. It's not some magical character from Frozen; it's just water. Unless you have a child in your car. And then you have snow choice in the matter.

• Don’t drive like a drunken psychopath. There can be black ice. Don't be the person who skids off the edge. Your bonnet snowman will be very cranky, lose his cool and may have a meltdown. And then sue you.
  

• Dress like a smart snowperson. Warm weather proof pants, layers, a warm jacket, gloves and weather proof shoes. You'll thank me.

• Order a coffee or hot chocolate and hot chips or pizza at the cafe. 

All of this might might melt your cold, cold heart. Here's some pics.

 

Right Royal Sneakers

Last year I went on a virtual quest, conducting an extensive search on my journey to find new white sneakers. White sneakers were and remain stylish and très chic but also they just go with all of the things. If you can’t colour match your ball gown or bridesmaid dress to the same shade of white as your sneakers you need some emergency stylin’ counsellin’ and perhaps also some holistic alternative fashun therapy.

So in the absence of a drive through carwash style arrangement for shoes in my city, I turned to Youtube to help me, sure that I was going to have to Do It Yourself, by myself.

During my deep dive, through the internet of shoe things, I noted the Duchess of Cambridge’s whitesneakers, that she wears to ramble through drenched paddocks in Kent in England to provide a social call to Girl Scouts, and on never-ending ramblings in the torrential rain on the hustings on golf courses in St Andrews – if there is even the hint of an involvement of walkies or amblings on her itinerary, she will throw on her white sneakers.

I thought surely they must be comfy little buggers, although probably also retail for as much as a small two bedroom apartment in Bondi. But crucially, they never seem to look tainted with dirt or stains, which is just a big positive in shoes and also in life.

So I googled ‘Kate’s white sneakers’ and was introduced to the idyllic world of Superga. And, as it turned out, Kate’s shoes were available at the shopping centre across the road from where I live, and were on jumbo sale, and only cost as much as a one bedroom apartment in Bondi. Half an hour later, I had Kate’s white Supergas. Life’s opportunities were about to go stratospheric! I tear up a bit every time I tell that beautiful, heart-warming story of when we first met.

Six months down the track, the Supergas have been an outstanding investment, apart from two of the key components of outstanding investments being earning me an income or appreciating in value. Look, they have intrinsic value.

They also recently needed a deep clean, sullied by their hard life on the streets. Like many owners of hardworking 4WD vehicles who live in the city, these sneakers have not seen a paddock in their whole life.

So unwisely overlooking the fact they were leather, I put them in the washing machine, where they astonishingly survived my unintentional attempt to cause them grievous bodily harm. I am out on bail, but am expecting to be charged with attempted murder, punishable by a life sentence of cleaning Supergas with a toothbrush.

As it turns out, I do not recommend putting white leather Supergas in the washing machine. While they had the ride of their life, one they will not forget, it really did not do the trick at all for spruiking them up. They were still scuffed, and the laces were still stained black from the metal eyelets. It turns out my Supergas are not like regal Supergas.

While Youtube can be weird for providing you with maintenance advice, Jiff and a toothbrush is the help I unequivocally decided to go with. As it turned out, I didn’t have any Jiff, so I went in with a multi-purpose cleaner and a suitcase of hope and dreams. And it worked!

But the cleaning process took just about all day, on and off, and then they had to air dry, because I put them in the dryer and that sounded like I had abducted a small person and jammed them in for a quick 30 minute spin cycle. If that ever transpires - just know - all my neighbours think I’m normal and quiet and they would “never have expected that she would put a small person in the dryer, let alone of a pair of leather Supergas”.

I’m now left to ponder whether the Duchess of Cambridge does not have an enviable mass of officers to tend to her every Supergas cleansing whim, punishable by an hour on spin cycle if they refuse the assignment.

 

Maniacal, murderous 'safety' pins

Safety pins. Bloody safety pins. Has a safety pin ever genuinely kept you safe? Ever delivered on the promise hidden in its name? Of course not. These spring-loaded metallic miscreants are chaos incarnate—tiny, twisted, pain-wielding demons masquerading as tools of convenience. Stupid little pricks. Literally.

In theory, the clasp exists to protect you from accidental stabbings. In practice, it’s about as effective as trying to stop a knife with a wet tissue. You’d get better results using barbed wire to hold your outfit together and just accepting the inevitable puncture wounds as part of the aesthetic.

I’ve been stabbed—repeatedly—by these so-called safety devices. I’ve bled. I’ve suffered. I’ve been left for dead on at least three separate occasions, betrayed by a bit of bent metal. Thankfully, I had a Band-Aid each time and a will to live.

And explain this: why do safety pins spontaneously explode open the moment you rummage through your handbag? You’re just looking for lip balm, and bam—sudden ambush. Blood. Swearing. Regret. Frankly, we should stop calling them safety pins and start calling them perilous pins, so newcomers to the planet know what they're really dealing with.

Let’s not pretend they save you from embarrassment either. Think you're cleverly hiding a wardrobe malfunction with a discreet pin? Think again. Everyone sees it. Everyone. And they’ll always announce it loudly, like they’ve just discovered a rare species in the wild:

 “Oh, is that a safety pin holding your hem up?”

Yes, Janet. Thank you. Kindly shut up now.

I’m sure the safety pin has a fascinating and noble history - something about the Bronze Age, Ancient Greece, and a bored guy without access to the internet—but honestly, who cares?

Their brief brush with fame? That was thanks to Liz Hurley using oversized ones to hold together a dress so tiny it defied physics. Iconic, yes. Practical? Questionable. Honestly, we should’ve renamed them tart pins then and there.

In the end, I think what really stings is this: I’m just bitter I didn’t invent them myself. 

Your helpful Westfield updates – Voting and SANTA-20

Is there anything that screams western democratic values and ideals more than an election polling station in a Westfield shopping centre.

Yep, there's been a polling booth in Westfield Woden in Canberra. The boffins who are the boss of all things elections have obviously decided that the best way to bring liberty, equality and justice to the populace (and make them vote RIGHT NOW for the local election and circumvent COVID-19 germs) was to take the voting to the people - deep in the heart of Big W territory.

And mere steps away from the symbolic centre, the heart of Westfield, the holy grail, the iconic statue representing humanity’s march forward towards greater understanding and compassion towards overheads and rectangular plastic cards used by financial institutions – the pay parking station. 

Read the commemorative plaque if you don't believe me; it's next to the 'Insert ticket here' slot.

The polling booth stands in the shopfront that was previously tenanted by Ishka, a chichi Australian company that claims to have a "deep respect for village communities” and sells “ethically sourced furniture”. 

No wood was harmed in the manufacturing process of the furniture, except for the trees from a village community that were chopped down and therefore died at the hands of a chainsaw or some other type of tree-killing machinery just so you could have a coffee table. 

Indeed, nothing says respect for mother earth more than a shopfront in a Westfield, whose global assets are in the range of AUD$63 billion.

At the polling booth store, you have to hand sanitise - a la all COVID-era, COVIDSafe entry points - and then state that you’re not a robot to an official who has had quite a long shift already thankyou voters and ironically resembles a robot, but then it’s all electronic smooth sailing baby and it takes about three seconds and you can do it while you’re going about your other life business so I approve. Next they’ll have a sausage sizzle in the food court. Someone please make that happen. 

Another thing happening at Westfield this year is Santa Claus. I mean, he happens every year, but SANTA-20 will be a little different.

I’ve always wondered how happy Santa really is at Christmas at Westfield, with children crawling all over his jolly rotund belly and screaming into his ear drums. There’s got to be an easier way to earn a gingerbread man crust, he probably thinks every damn year. I get the feeling he’d rather be sitting on a tree stump in a Lapland forest surrounded by reindeer shit.  

Well, this year, Santa doesn’t have to handle the children. No children allowed near Santa spreading their screaming, shouting or pathogens. No sitting on laps. There will be no lapland this year. It’s a socially distanced Santa Claus.

Families or individuals have to sit away from Santa, separated by props of elves and oversized candy canes and presumably other Christmas related things like snow covered hills, a ski resort, a forest of trees, and a vast subarctic wilderness if Santa has any say in it. Westfield say it’s ‘making Christmas merrier’. Yeah, just the way Santa likes it. 

Every kid gets a free reindeer headband, presumably after they just take a quick COVID-19 PCR test. Just kidding, Westfield, don't sue me. Why would Westfield hand out free headbands. Just kidding, there is nothing on Westfield's website to indicate they are testing kids for COVID, but this is now and that is December and two months is a very long time in 2020.

It is my understanding that Santa has been granted a travel exemption to bring his herde of marauding wildebeest into Australia, which is more than anyone except Tom Hanks and Shane Warne and Tony Abbott and Lord Sugar and Nicole Kidman has received this year. I wonder what it’ll be like stuck in a hotel room in the Stamford Plaza with a bunch of reindeer for 14 days.

Abandoned vegetales

According to an eyewitness account, someone has recklessly abandoned their health today, after vegetables (pictured) were found strewn on the side of a path.

Chucked in wild abandonment, until someone placed them neatly on a ledge, and bound and gagged them, like some sort of confused serial killer copycat deconstructing the scene of a crime. 

How did this all come about, I hear you cry out, desperate for more information. Was the planned meal abandoned due to poor cooking conditions? Was it lack of cooking ability? Was it forsaken, cast aside for a prepared meal from Uber Eats? Maybe the carry bag was sinking fast and the vegetables decided to jump ship? 

Or is because it’s celery, which deserves to be strewn on a street. We’ll just never know. Because the eyewitness wasn’t so witness-y after all. 

As an Enquiry and, more importantly, an Inquiry, is launched into why there has been a significant increase in vegetables being strewn all over the place on this path and how to prevent it in the future, the fate of the vegetables in question hangs in the balance, and their future is most certainly unclear.
 
What is known, however, is that they are currently wilting in the sun. If it’s any consolation, the vegetables had very few loved ones.

My Little Bogan

Last year I bought a Holden - one of Australia's iconic automobiles from the marque manufacturer (well, it is until 2021). I affectionately refer to it as My Little Bogan. 

I always knew that My Little Bogan had a racy past life, as it has sports seats, displayed racing car livery down its side when I bought it, and was surrounded by fumes and sweaty men to represent the smell/presence of a pit lane. But I stripped it of those stickers, smells and sweaty people - thus its entire personality - because I'm a monster.

Anyway, since I bought My Little Bogan, it's had a relatively dull life. I walk to work so the only time it gets to hoon is on the weekend when we go round and round the block a thousand times and only stop when someone raises a black and white striped flag at us and sometimes that doesn't happen at all believe it or not.

But today, a strange thing happened when I was driving home from undertaking one of the most average tasks you can ever honestly endure; visiting my local supermarket to purchase a range of fresh and preserved produce, traditionally known as grocery shopping. 

Laden with my goods, I was sitting at the lights, minding my own business, as much as I ever mind my own business, waiting for my right turn. But as I took off My Little Bogan decided to go full Holden.

Before I knew it, the back wheels were spinning considerably more than the front wheels were spinning in some sort of wheel spin and then the front ones locked. I think it's called a burnout. I did a burnout; in what can only be described as in an 'aggressive manner'. 

I didn't mean to do a burnout. I couldn't do it again if I tried, honest. It stopped at soon as it started which was a good outcome for everyone given there's a police station sitting on that corner. It was very embarassing but I don't think anyone noticed to be honest.

When I got home I had a good, hard brief glance through my Holden manual to see if there is perhaps a hidden button on my dashboard labelled the 'Bathurst 1000'. It turns out no. Okay, maybe a special feature was added to my car on purchase but I feel like I would have remembered that conversation with the car folks, I am fairly certain.

I can certainly relate if My Little Bogan wanted to live it's best Holden life. Yeah Bathurst! Evidently, Bathurst's first turn is a ninety-degree left-hander called Hell Corner, so fairly similar to what you'd find at your standard set of traffic lights. And then there's Mountain Straight, described as a gentle climb where you can reach speeds of 255 km/h, which really wouldn't be ideal at the traffic lights because the next building is the aforementioned police station and that's not how law-abiding behaviour works I'm pretty sure.

Now My Little Bogan has been unleashed, rather more angrily than necessary, this is most definitely a recipe for disaster, so I shall endeavour to tame the beast. I will (I won't).