Men in Ties

Earlier this week, the federal government brought down its budget for this election year. We watched the treasurer's speech on TV and, although I did listen, my lasting impression was a visual one. Every man present, whether on the government or opposition benches, seemed to be wearing a navy blue suit. Most were plain cloth, though a few members were daring enough to choose a pinstriped version. With the suit, all had chosen a diagonally striped tie. The biggest diversion from this uniform lay in the colour of the stripes.
Now, I've always maintained that a man's tie fulfils the same function for him as a woman's jewellery does for her: it reveals something of the personality of the wearer. Think chunky brass and and copper versus a sedate string of pearls. I personally have a penchant for earrings in leaf shapes. But, clearly, these Australian politicians are playing their cards close to their conservative chests. Where are the cartoon character ties, the little aeroplanes, golf clubs or palm trees? I know they are available in the shops as our daughter has bought Michael a selection of interesting designs over the years. One of her inspired choices even looks at first glance like the standard diagonal, but on closer inspection the stripes turn out to be parallel rows of tiny snails.
Having noted this peculiar symptom among politicians, I'm now seeing it in other professions. Television newsreaders also wear the predictable diagonal, although one at least has a model in irridescent purple stripes on a dark blue background. (By contrast, the women newsreaders wear the most bizarre fashions, often with assertive lapels or an assortment of net and frills around the neckline.) A panel of five sportscasters included three diagonal tie wearers. The remaining two, bucking the trend, had opted for circles instead, one of which might just possibly have been little soccer balls, but the camera never provided a close-up, so I can only hope.

Men in Ties

Earlier this week, the federal government brought down its budget for this election year. We watched the treasurer's speech on TV and, although I did listen, my lasting impression was a visual one. Every man present, whether on the government or opposition benches, seemed to be wearing a navy blue suit. Most were plain cloth, though a few members were daring enough to choose a pinstriped version. With the suit, all had chosen a diagonally striped tie. The biggest diversion from this uniform lay in the colour of the stripes.
Now, I've always maintained that a man's tie fulfils the same function for him as a woman's jewellery does for her: it reveals something of the personality of the wearer. Think chunky brass and and copper versus a sedate string of pearls. I personally have a penchant for earrings in leaf shapes. But, clearly, these Australian politicians are playing their cards close to their conservative chests. Where are the cartoon character ties, the little aeroplanes, golf clubs or palm trees? I know they are available in the shops as our daughter has bought Michael a selection of interesting designs over the years. One of her inspired choices even looks at first glance like the standard diagonal, but on closer inspection the stripes turn out to be parallel rows of tiny snails.
Having noted this peculiar symptom among politicians, I'm now seeing it in other professions. Television newsreaders also wear the predictable diagonal, although one at least has a model in irridescent purple stripes on a dark blue background. (By contrast, the women newsreaders wear the most bizarre fashions, often with assertive lapels or an assortment of net and frills around the neckline.) A panel of five sportscasters included three diagonal tie wearers. The remaining two, bucking the trend, had opted for circles instead, one of which might just possibly have been little soccer balls, but the camera never provided a close-up, so I can only hope.

More on camellias

Camellia sasanqua began flowering in numerous local gardens over a month ago. It is now in full bloom and very eye-catching. At Blackheath in the grounds of the community centre is this vigorous if slightly straggly example, thriving with seemingly little care. (Thank you brother-in-law Paul for having your camera handy). Pink forms like this are the most ubiquitous, but a neighbour of ours has a particularly attractive bi-color one with white petals dipped in raspberry pink. In Vancouver's persistent winter rains, the flowers so often turn sodden and brown within hours of opening, but here in Australia's dry climate, they have a much longer shelf life.

More on camellias

Camellia sasanqua began flowering in numerous local gardens over a month ago. It is now in full bloom and very eye-catching. At Blackheath in the grounds of the community centre is this vigorous if slightly straggly example, thriving with seemingly little care. (Thank you brother-in-law Paul for having your camera handy). Pink forms like this are the most ubiquitous, but a neighbour of ours has a particularly attractive bi-color one with white petals dipped in raspberry pink. In Vancouver's persistent winter rains, the flowers so often turn sodden and brown within hours of opening, but here in Australia's dry climate, they have a much longer shelf life.

(Non)Laughing Kookaburra

Yesterday, this fine kookaburra was sitting on the street sign beside our place, scanning the vacant lot next door for signs of life, probably hunting the small lizards called skinks that seem to emerge in numbers every time the sunshine is strong enough to warm the ground. I was able to stand quite close without disturbing it, although I had to shoot against the bright sky so the photos are not as distinct as I'd hoped. This particular bird was too intent on food to be laughing, but we often hear them chuckling in chorus among the surrounding eucalypts in the early morning and evening. Is it my imagination that they are more vocal whenever the weather is threatening rain?
The laughing kookaburra (Dacelo gigas) is Australia's largest kingfisher and one of the largest of its species in the world. My bird book gives a plethora of common names for it, including Breakfastbird, Bushman's Clock, Jack, Jackass, Jacko, Jacky, John, Johnny, Kooka, and Ha Ha Pigeon.
For my North American botanist friends, yes, those are Monterey pines in the background. They are quite a feature of the Blue Mountains, attracting sulphur-crested cockatoos who love tearing the cones apart. Some humans, however, dislike them for their habit of shedding needles into eavestroughs, clogging the downpipes and creating a fire hazard in this area of frequent bushfires.

(Non)Laughing Kookaburra

Yesterday, this fine kookaburra was sitting on the street sign beside our place, scanning the vacant lot next door for signs of life, probably hunting the small lizards called skinks that seem to emerge in numbers every time the sunshine is strong enough to warm the ground. I was able to stand quite close without disturbing it, although I had to shoot against the bright sky so the photos are not as distinct as I'd hoped. This particular bird was too intent on food to be laughing, but we often hear them chuckling in chorus among the surrounding eucalypts in the early morning and evening. Is it my imagination that they are more vocal whenever the weather is threatening rain?
The laughing kookaburra (Dacelo gigas) is Australia's largest kingfisher and one of the largest of its species in the world. My bird book gives a plethora of common names for it, including Breakfastbird, Bushman's Clock, Jack, Jackass, Jacko, Jacky, John, Johnny, Kooka, and Ha Ha Pigeon.
For my North American botanist friends, yes, those are Monterey pines in the background. They are quite a feature of the Blue Mountains, attracting sulphur-crested cockatoos who love tearing the cones apart. Some humans, however, dislike them for their habit of shedding needles into eavestroughs, clogging the downpipes and creating a fire hazard in this area of frequent bushfires.

More Street Trees and Shrubs

If there are benefits to a prolonged drought, one of them in Australia has to be the increased planting of native trees and shrubs that will survive without attention, particularly regular watering. Or perhaps I just didn't notice them in my non-gardening youth.

This banksia is growing on a neglected strip of grass behind a large hardware store in the oxymoronically named Blue Mountains suburb of Valley Heights. I think is a specimen of Banksia oblongifolia because its flowers are pale yellow and it is flowering now in autumn. All banksias are endemic to Australia. Members of the protea family, they are named for Sir Joseph Banks, the eminent botanist who travelled with Captain Cook. One of the interesting characteristics of banksias is that they hold their seeds for many years, either until the plant dies or is singed by fire.








Not far away is a she-oak, possibly Allocasuarina torulosa, judging by its warty cones. I remember that we had several growing near our home when I was a child, and we would cut a single branch to serve as a Christmas tree in this country that lacked the northern hemisphere's traditional firs. Nowadays, tree farms supply the real thing to those who can afford the very high prices they command.