The most interesting place in Alice?
Thorny Devil
Angry croc
Another week draws to a close. And what a week it's been. One where I have enjoyed the varied, and at times Bohemian, lifestyle that I long dreamed of when I was part of the rat race.
It got off to a good start on Monday when my lovely friend, Tracey, took me to my first open circle meeting at the Spiritualist Church in Cleethorpes. It was immensely interesting. The spirits had a lot to say for themselves, but not to me.
On Tuesday evening I met Jim for a curry and a couple of bottles of glugable red. I met Jim when he taught a module on screenplay writing at university. Jim, who has been a writer for over 40 years, is one of those wonderful people who believes in me as a writer and gives me bags of confidence to persevere. It was brilliant to discuss the various writing projects we both have in the pipeline. Jim and I had made an agreement before I retired to co-write a screenplay based around policing. Jim has been unable to find a production company for the project, but he has wisely suggested we collaborate on a stage play instead. We pencilled it in for the autumn, when our current projects will be finished.
Last night I went out for yet more curry. This time with Steve, a former colleague who retired from the police 4 years ago and now works as a teacher's assistant. I admire Steve for avoiding the revolving door and taking on the challenge of a life beyond policing. Not only that, he's one of the loveliest blokes on the planet and always good company.
Aside from all the social activity I have cracked on with the opening to my book, Adventures of a Middle Aged Gapper. I have the first 8,000 words under my belt and I'm on schedule to deliver the first 10,000 words as the final piece for my degree in May.
There's no word yet from any of the four literary agents I approached a couple of weeks ago. I'll leave it for another week or so then approach another four. And if they don't respond I'll approach another four. Nil desperandum!
On a more positive note, I received an email yesterday from playwright, Dave Windass, at Hull Truck to say that my application for their 8 week PlayWrite course has been successful. Apart from what I will learn, this is a great opportunity to get known at Hull Truck and maybe get my foot in the door.
I am travelling to Somerset tomorrow. I will visit relatives in Bridgewater then pay my respects at the grave where both of my parents are now buried in a village churchyard. After that I have a rented a quiet cottage by the sea for a week for me and my dog. There is no internet access so there will be no blogs for a while I'm afraid.
Being by the sea, the cottage affords me the chance to achieve one of my remaining challenges - to catch a fish, weighing more than 2 pounds. Fingers crossed.
Okay, let's get back to Alice.....
Alice Springs does not live up to the beauty of its name. Apart from a small mall lined with shops selling Aboriginal art, it is a very industrial looking grid of ugly buildings. All the garish features we normally associate with developments on the edge of big cities such as fast food chains, petrol stations, huge supermarkets and used car lots have been squished into the town centre, constrained by the boundaries of the river, The Gap and the railway line. I do discover a couple of redeeming features though.
The first is the best bottle shop I have seen in Australia. Apart from a wide range of wines it also has a vast cold room, stocked high with cases of beer. Stepping out of the heat and into a cooling atmosphere, surrounded by cold lagers and pale ales is like finding a door from hell to heaven.
Taking my six-pack to the till I feel very flattered to be asked for photo identification, until I discover that you can’t buy alcohol here without ID even if you’re a hundred. It’s not just the anti-smoking laws that are tough in the outback.
The other gem came as a result of my conversations on the train with Emily, who not only dished out free books on behalf of the cosmos but also provided a very good tourist information service.
‘You must go to the Reptile Centre,’ advised Emily. ‘It’s really interesting and they let you handle some of the snakes and lizards.’
I arrived at the centre just in time for the 4.30pm demonstration. As promised, a young lady gave a very informative talk about the various snakes and lizards to be found in central Australia and passed around some of the friendlier specimens to those willing to handle them. I took a real shine to the Blue Tongued Skink, who kindly proved the accuracy of his name when tasting the air around me.
What the young herpetologist, Julie, said next certainly caught my attention:
‘Australia is home to 18 of the 20 most venomous snakes in the world.’
Having been in the country for more than a week now, I had become very blasé about the constant threat of dying horribly. I had even stopped checking toilet seats for Redback spiders and their equally deadly cousins.
‘But there is some good news,’ said our guide. ‘Take a look at these. What you have here are two fangs. One from a Gaboon Viper, from Africa, and the other from a Western Brown Snake, from Australia.’
The small box containing the snake teeth was passed around. The Gaboon Viper fang was a good inch long, while the fang of the Western Brown Snake was tiny, barely a sixteenth of an inch.
‘Most snakes will move away once they hear you coming. If you are unfortunate enough to take one by surprise it may well strike you,’ continued Julie. ‘A Gaboon Viper has the longest fangs of any snake in the world and will bite you right through thick clothing. However, all the snakes in Australia have very small fangs, so if you are wearing boots, thick socks and long trousers you will be protected.
‘Even if you are unlucky enough to be bitten the bite is unlikely to prove fatal. These snakes are quite small and they recognise that you are far too big to be prey so they will not waste venom on you. Nine times out of ten their strikes will be dry.’
Despite the odds being in my favour, I hadn’t realised just how many venomous snakes there were in the outback and a small alarm bell began to sound. In a couple of days I would be taking a 7 mile walk around the base of Uluru.
The talk over I had time to wander around and see the various Bearded Dragons and Thorny Devils in their enclosures. The prize exhibit was a freshwater crocodile, which was in a large pool that afforded underwater views through thick glass.
I have seen crocodiles in the wild in both South Africa and Kenya. As photographic subjects go they are among the most boring. Every photo I have of a wild croc depicts this log-like creature lying inert in the water.
The captive specimen is lying at the bottom of his pool. I take a few pictures of him through the glass, but they are still not very exciting. Then a middle aged Aussie chap appears and I take him to be the owner of the reptile centre.
‘Hang on, mate,’ he yells to me from above. ‘I’ll wake him up for you.’
The reptile bloke then proceeds to bash the water with a large pole, just above my view point. The effect on the croc is startling. He shoots towards me and the pole, mouth wide for the attack. I take my best croc pictures ever. I imagine that they represent the last thing many a hapless creature sees when nipping down to the billabong for a quick drink.
Back at the hostel I prepare my supper and sit outside in the comfortable heat of the early evening. The History Boys is showing on the outdoor cinema screen. I’ve seen the film twice before. It is based on the play of the same name by fellow Yorkshireman, Alan Bennett. In fact we were both born in Armley, Leeds, although that’s where our similarity ends. Strangely, I went to Leeds Grammar School, having earned a scholarship, and Alan didn’t. He attended Leeds Modern, a boys’ school to the north of the city. It doesn’t seem to have held him back. The film is one of my favourites, a reminder, if it were needed, of Bennett’s sheer genius.
I check for snakes and spiders under my seat, then settle down with my vegetable pasta and a few cold ones to watch the movie. A message from home arrives on my iPod. Apparently it’s snowing there again. Shame.
It got off to a good start on Monday when my lovely friend, Tracey, took me to my first open circle meeting at the Spiritualist Church in Cleethorpes. It was immensely interesting. The spirits had a lot to say for themselves, but not to me.
On Tuesday evening I met Jim for a curry and a couple of bottles of glugable red. I met Jim when he taught a module on screenplay writing at university. Jim, who has been a writer for over 40 years, is one of those wonderful people who believes in me as a writer and gives me bags of confidence to persevere. It was brilliant to discuss the various writing projects we both have in the pipeline. Jim and I had made an agreement before I retired to co-write a screenplay based around policing. Jim has been unable to find a production company for the project, but he has wisely suggested we collaborate on a stage play instead. We pencilled it in for the autumn, when our current projects will be finished.
Last night I went out for yet more curry. This time with Steve, a former colleague who retired from the police 4 years ago and now works as a teacher's assistant. I admire Steve for avoiding the revolving door and taking on the challenge of a life beyond policing. Not only that, he's one of the loveliest blokes on the planet and always good company.
Aside from all the social activity I have cracked on with the opening to my book, Adventures of a Middle Aged Gapper. I have the first 8,000 words under my belt and I'm on schedule to deliver the first 10,000 words as the final piece for my degree in May.
There's no word yet from any of the four literary agents I approached a couple of weeks ago. I'll leave it for another week or so then approach another four. And if they don't respond I'll approach another four. Nil desperandum!
On a more positive note, I received an email yesterday from playwright, Dave Windass, at Hull Truck to say that my application for their 8 week PlayWrite course has been successful. Apart from what I will learn, this is a great opportunity to get known at Hull Truck and maybe get my foot in the door.
I am travelling to Somerset tomorrow. I will visit relatives in Bridgewater then pay my respects at the grave where both of my parents are now buried in a village churchyard. After that I have a rented a quiet cottage by the sea for a week for me and my dog. There is no internet access so there will be no blogs for a while I'm afraid.
Being by the sea, the cottage affords me the chance to achieve one of my remaining challenges - to catch a fish, weighing more than 2 pounds. Fingers crossed.
Okay, let's get back to Alice.....
Alice Springs does not live up to the beauty of its name. Apart from a small mall lined with shops selling Aboriginal art, it is a very industrial looking grid of ugly buildings. All the garish features we normally associate with developments on the edge of big cities such as fast food chains, petrol stations, huge supermarkets and used car lots have been squished into the town centre, constrained by the boundaries of the river, The Gap and the railway line. I do discover a couple of redeeming features though.
The first is the best bottle shop I have seen in Australia. Apart from a wide range of wines it also has a vast cold room, stocked high with cases of beer. Stepping out of the heat and into a cooling atmosphere, surrounded by cold lagers and pale ales is like finding a door from hell to heaven.
Taking my six-pack to the till I feel very flattered to be asked for photo identification, until I discover that you can’t buy alcohol here without ID even if you’re a hundred. It’s not just the anti-smoking laws that are tough in the outback.
The other gem came as a result of my conversations on the train with Emily, who not only dished out free books on behalf of the cosmos but also provided a very good tourist information service.
‘You must go to the Reptile Centre,’ advised Emily. ‘It’s really interesting and they let you handle some of the snakes and lizards.’
I arrived at the centre just in time for the 4.30pm demonstration. As promised, a young lady gave a very informative talk about the various snakes and lizards to be found in central Australia and passed around some of the friendlier specimens to those willing to handle them. I took a real shine to the Blue Tongued Skink, who kindly proved the accuracy of his name when tasting the air around me.
What the young herpetologist, Julie, said next certainly caught my attention:
‘Australia is home to 18 of the 20 most venomous snakes in the world.’
Having been in the country for more than a week now, I had become very blasé about the constant threat of dying horribly. I had even stopped checking toilet seats for Redback spiders and their equally deadly cousins.
‘But there is some good news,’ said our guide. ‘Take a look at these. What you have here are two fangs. One from a Gaboon Viper, from Africa, and the other from a Western Brown Snake, from Australia.’
The small box containing the snake teeth was passed around. The Gaboon Viper fang was a good inch long, while the fang of the Western Brown Snake was tiny, barely a sixteenth of an inch.
‘Most snakes will move away once they hear you coming. If you are unfortunate enough to take one by surprise it may well strike you,’ continued Julie. ‘A Gaboon Viper has the longest fangs of any snake in the world and will bite you right through thick clothing. However, all the snakes in Australia have very small fangs, so if you are wearing boots, thick socks and long trousers you will be protected.
‘Even if you are unlucky enough to be bitten the bite is unlikely to prove fatal. These snakes are quite small and they recognise that you are far too big to be prey so they will not waste venom on you. Nine times out of ten their strikes will be dry.’
Despite the odds being in my favour, I hadn’t realised just how many venomous snakes there were in the outback and a small alarm bell began to sound. In a couple of days I would be taking a 7 mile walk around the base of Uluru.
The talk over I had time to wander around and see the various Bearded Dragons and Thorny Devils in their enclosures. The prize exhibit was a freshwater crocodile, which was in a large pool that afforded underwater views through thick glass.
I have seen crocodiles in the wild in both South Africa and Kenya. As photographic subjects go they are among the most boring. Every photo I have of a wild croc depicts this log-like creature lying inert in the water.
The captive specimen is lying at the bottom of his pool. I take a few pictures of him through the glass, but they are still not very exciting. Then a middle aged Aussie chap appears and I take him to be the owner of the reptile centre.
‘Hang on, mate,’ he yells to me from above. ‘I’ll wake him up for you.’
The reptile bloke then proceeds to bash the water with a large pole, just above my view point. The effect on the croc is startling. He shoots towards me and the pole, mouth wide for the attack. I take my best croc pictures ever. I imagine that they represent the last thing many a hapless creature sees when nipping down to the billabong for a quick drink.
Back at the hostel I prepare my supper and sit outside in the comfortable heat of the early evening. The History Boys is showing on the outdoor cinema screen. I’ve seen the film twice before. It is based on the play of the same name by fellow Yorkshireman, Alan Bennett. In fact we were both born in Armley, Leeds, although that’s where our similarity ends. Strangely, I went to Leeds Grammar School, having earned a scholarship, and Alan didn’t. He attended Leeds Modern, a boys’ school to the north of the city. It doesn’t seem to have held him back. The film is one of my favourites, a reminder, if it were needed, of Bennett’s sheer genius.
I check for snakes and spiders under my seat, then settle down with my vegetable pasta and a few cold ones to watch the movie. A message from home arrives on my iPod. Apparently it’s snowing there again. Shame.
Enjoy your week's break, you'll need it...
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