daddy's enlightenment

This better work. Spent inordinate amount of time composing on Saturday morning my Friday night's exploits. Crafting of course to be witty without appearing to have sweated over words as big as "the" or "a". System crashed before I'd published and posted. V annoyed and didn't look at my laptop again until, well anyway I digress.

Phew, have managed to survive visit by parents. Several weeks ago (I think it was over Christmas sherry and lemonades at my grandparents (yes I do have friends believe me) I was feeling all family-orientated. Suggested that my parents come to Sydney for the Australia day long weekend. Imagined spending a wonderful weekend of culture, shared with my parents that we could then look back on in years to come as the weekend of parental/daughter bonding.

Began positively enough on Friday night. Mother arrived in time for dinner which I'd decided would be best spent at cool but not-to-cool casual seafood restaurant. Think Mary's Fishcamp or Pearl Oyster Bar, but southern hemisphere version in Paddington, Sydney.

We dined on 45 degree pavement, oh so chic, amongst many dogs and their stylish owners. Higher dog count to owners at most tables, except for ours. People 2 - dogs 0. Best example - seven dogs to four two-legged patrons. Five yappy heel-biters under table and around chair legs with three over-sized Great Danes lounging resplendently on pavement, they too on severe angle but you know dogs - would they care?

I wouldn't have minded either if I'd not needed to use my chips as barrier to my delicately grilled (v yum) barramundi from sliding off plate and table and into waiting woofer's chops. I feel Sydney is succumbing to wanna' be French thing; same affliction as NY. Stumbled home bathed in a Chardy glow.

Saturday morning came, rather earlier than I'm used to and with it the arrival of my dad. Good country bloke - think Russell Crowe without the good looks or bank balance, and a whole host of other apparently positive attributes. Went for breakfast with mother, a female friend of hers, me and papa. He acquitted himself well amongst all females and the conversation revolving around birthing strategies. So far so good. Mother went off mid morning for girly treatments and I bravely suggested my father accompany me to a contemporary art exhibition or two.

Enticed him by the idea of the first exhibition being a car display. It was - Nam Jun Paik work. Neglected to explain that they were all old American mobiles painted silver with opera heralding from hidden speakers. V cool - situated on Opera House forecourt; I think he just thought it odd.

Next was exhibition in Opera House. All designers based in Sydney of various media. He did fine at this one. Nothing too conceptual to worry about. I was easing him into a more formidable opponent. Third on the agenda was the MCA's Leigh Bowery retrospective. Nudes of Bowery by Lucian Freud were the tamer of the material shown. Comments including "Geez big poofter wasn't he" incredulously came from my father's ogling mouth. I worried needlessly until I noticed he seemed to be drawn to Leigh's fetish shoe collection, and in particular a pair of extreme platforms titled "sewerage shoes". My father is a man who owns perhaps three pairs of shoes - thongs (flip flops for internationals), Blundstones (work footwear) and RM William boots (posh footwear). He was also captivated by a human birthing costume called "the cunt" - perhaps this was a subconscious link to breakfast conversation.

I dragged my dad away, but not before he'd purchased the catalogue of all the costumes displayed. Maybe my Sydney friends will be identifying my father at this year's Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras.

We then meandered through the Botanical Gardens, dodging the bat poo which is much bigger and smellier than pigeon poo.

Saturday afternoon was spent leisurely sipping wine and swallowing oysters overlooking Finger Wharf Bay. No complaints there. Saturday night was the big dinner for three event. I booked a very nice Italian restaurant which was BYO. Before escaping Coffs Harbour (town where the parents live and I had to pay a visit on re-entry to Australia) I'd squirreled away from their well-stocked cellar few bottles (oh OK thirty or so) of perfectly aged Shiraz'. Late 70's and early 80's vintages. With these prizes in mind I'd booked a restaurant worthy of their opening.

Dinner went well, as did the wine. Only slight skirmish was when dad had suggested taking a few beers (stubbies) as well. Well, fine but I'd put my foot down when he also wanted to take his own stubbie holder. google this if you don't know what I'm referring to.

Sunday was booked up with a lunch at the yacht club, swimming in the pool and lounging on the sundeck. Friends of my parents also accompanied us and I have to admit everything went according to plan except for perhaps my dad's enthusing about Leigh's costumes and accoutrements.

Sunday evening we had tickets to outdoor Moonlight Cinema watching The Italian Job. Nothing to report out of the ordinary there - although my dad did seem a bit pre-occupied with the gay couples and their romantic antics.

Monday arrived and because it was Australia Day my mother decided that we should go to the Rocks (oldest part of Sydney) for brunch and a wander. Fine. On the way we stumbled across another automotive display. Classic cars lined the streets, which we had to inspect - a car theme had definitely taken root.

Following lunch we came back to the house and my parents packed up and headed for the airport. They wanted to get the Qantas lounge for a few drinks before getting back to the bush. So now, I've only got a few days left before I leave Sydney and summer and head for the cooler climes of Old Blighty.

Should also report that this weekend has not seen any manic smoothie making, but then again I've not had a chance to blog either, until now that is. I guess there are a few hours left of today when a smoothie attack might strike.