The House Husband

Back when I was a mere youth, wandering the years between teenageship and adultage, Wollongong was pretty much considered a lonely outpost of civilisation, mainly inhabited by steelworkers and their offspring.

I remember going on a Rambo Weekend to Kiama once where four of us unsuccessfully tried camping. In order to get there, I’m pretty sure we drove through the Gong. This was in the days before big freeways and bypasses; just a spit short of the horse and buggy in fact. As far as I remember we were not especially impressed with the Wollongong of those far off days.

When we were touring with the theatre company, we often performed at Wollongong. I do not recall much about the place other than the amount of beer that was consumed and the beach parties.

20 years ago, one of Mirinda’s best friends, Adele, moved there. She had no choice, as her work required it. In that time she has married and had two children. She has never returned to civilisation. Today we paid her a visit.

The house has changed a great deal since I last saw it but they still live on the same plot. They have extended up and added a pool. Wollongong, too, has changed a great deal. Thriving, alive, cosmopolitan. It also looked absolutely gorgeous from the old Princes highway leading in just by the turn off for Sublime Point. This could have been because the day was beautiful and blue of course.

At Adele’s we sat and chatted with the family – I had a long discussion with Hamish about Hair Metal -v- real music – and we ate Molly’s collapsed gingerbread house. I commiserated with Dave about the loss of his squares and sheds, something he may get over one day.

We went to lunch at Diggies, a lovely little place on Wollongong Beach (the website is here) sans Hamish who went off with a chum. Diggies is highly recommended! Apart from the great food, they serve a selection of European beers, including Peroni. We sat in a room which overlooked the sprawling beach.

We had a lovely day, returning via the hospital to visit Claire, who was looking a lot better though her mood was a tad melancholy at times. At one stage, Mirinda told her to concentrate on her favourite things whenever she felt a bit down. Claire then asked for the pad and pencil. She wrote ‘Vic Sponge’ and grinned large.

What a glorious start to 2010. T’was a beautiful day. Or so I’m told. I spent most of it in bed.

Mirinda’s flu has taken a deadly hold over me and even attacked my taste buds. I cooked dinner tonight and asked her how it tasted as I couldn’t taste anything. She said it tasted different to usual. Clearly because I couldn’t taste it. Obviously I do little things with seasoning depending on taste which make a big difference.

In an episode of Friends, Rachel makes a trifle but skips over a page in the recipe book, making half a shepherd’s pie as well. In the same bowl. They all pretend to like it, getting rid of it in various comedy ways. However, Joey loves it, saying “Custard, jelly, meat…what’s not to like?”

I make a Moroccan meal which has layers of aubergine, yoghurt and mince and which Mirinda calls Joey Layer Cake. Clearly I shouldn’t make it when I’m gripped with flu.

Anyway, we’ve watched David Tennant’s final Dr Who, witnessed Miss Marple triumph with mirrors, and I really have to go to bed. I’m hoping to be a tad more healthy tomorrow.

The day brightened up beautifully.  We started with grey clouds and what looked like becoming a grim old Christmas day but then, out of the blue, came the…err…blue.  The rest of the day was glorious though still cold.

I’m starting to get a bit annoyed with the amount of things that religion has appropriated.  All this talk about Jesus being born on Christmas day.  Ok, clearly, Christmas is the birth of Christ but it didn’t happen on 25 December.  Well, it may have but the thing is, no-one actually knows.

Before the Christians decided to steal Christmas for themselves, it was a celebration of the winter solstice.  It was to mark the end of the shortest days and a look forward to the days growing longer.

Of course, we all know this is 21 December but the Romans did the maths wrong.  They didn’t realise it, but gradually, over a few hundred years, 21 December drifted four days ahead in time and, voila, solstice becomes Christmas.   Not that the Romans did it first.  They appropriated the calendar, changing it slightly, from the Egyptians.

Anyway, another one has gone by and another Christmas dinner has been created, eaten and (almost) cleaned up after.  I was up at 6am and worked steadily towards lunch at 2pm.

I was very happy with the turkey this year.  The meat just slid off and was soft to taste.  I was also happy with my cranberry sauce.  I generally find it too tart but it was somehow slightly sweeter this year.  Karen particularly liked my parsnips and Nigel enthused over my shortbread.  Mirinda loved everything, exactly the way a wife should.

Karen and Nigel are at the airport at the moment, waiting for their flight which leaves in less than an hour.  Karen is clutching two turkey and cranberry rolls because she doesn’t believe that BA Business Class food is any good.  It’s funny to think that by the time I get to sleep, they’ll be in the sky, flying home.

me at the cooker preparing lunch