Archives for May 2015

My Sydney Writers Festival

May 24, 2015 by andysomething 2 Comments

I went to a few writing workshops put on by the Sydney Writers Festival last week and I thought some of you might be interested in what we did. I went to workshops on publicity, re-writing, crime writing and even romance. Some workshops were better than others, but I definitely got something out of all them. The best one was the last one. On Friday morning Nick Earls ran a workshop on developing characters. He obviously does this a bit, and he was the most confident and relaxed of the presenters. It was just him and a lucky-dip bag of random objects. Character prompts. He talked a lot about his writing process, and told a story of having to come up with a short story in a week for an anthology.

The main exercise was to work in groups to develop a character based on three random objects from the bag, and from there to develop some story points and write a scene to develop the character’s voice. This was a really fun way to start from scratch and see what you could come up with.

Our group pulled out

a 100 rouble note
a pair of cheap sunglasses from a Sheffield Shield cricket final
and an Olympic shooting souvenir badge from the Sydney Olympic games.

From this we had to decide ten things about our character. So she was:

female
mid 30s
had been to Russia
was a spy (what else?)
could shoot (of course)
had been to the Sydney Olympics
had a child
who was into cricket
and a husband
and a car

Then we had to write something.

I really love this kind of thing because you can go wherever you want. There are no constraints other than those you put on yourself. This is my effort below, tidied up slightly, and with all the crossing outs removed. I enjoyed writing it, and I might even use it in a short story some time.

“Where are the oranges Mrs Blake?”

“Pardon Jimmy?” What fucking oranges?

“The oranges for half time Mum,” Nathan said. “It’s our turn.”

Oh for fuck sake. “Really? Daddy didn’t mention anything about the oranges.” The bastard. Pete had probably held that vital little piece of information back on purpose. Surely he could have got a doctors appointment some other time. Not the morning she had to be on time, had to front the board, explain the Williams death.

“We’ll get some oranges on the way. Get those seat-belts on.” She slammed the shift into reverse and swung sharply out onto the street throwing Jimmy across the back seat. “Seat-belts.” she shouted watching in the mirror as Nathan pushed Jimmy off his lap. She put the wagon in drive and willed it to accelerate. Get moving. She hated the wagon. Pete chose it. Big and wallowy, a lot like him. And it always smelled of food. Whenever she got in she had to consciously avoid looking at the upholstery. It was always going to be unpleasant and there was never an opportunity to do anything about it. They were always running late.

At the oval the boys piled out, trailing their over-sized kit bags behind them. Nathan was dragging a mesh bag of oranges too. “We need to cut them up Mum,” he said.

Jesus, you’ve got teeth haven’t you? “Here take this.” She pulled Pete’s keys out of the ignition and twisted his Swiss Army knife off the ring. She certainly wasn’t going to give them the knife tucked into the side of her boot. The bastards had taken her gun, she wasn’t going to walk around without some kind of weapon.

Nathan and Jimmy tottered off with their bags over their shoulders. Jimmy opening every blade on the knife as he went.

There was probably some rule about that, she thought as she bumped the wagon across the gutter.

573 Foodarama – An early start and a long walk

May 24, 2015 by andysomething Leave a Comment

It’s early and I’m nervous. Every cafe we’ve been past so far has been closed. This is Newtown, and no self respecting hipster gets out of bed until the rest of Sydney has played 18 holes of golf, or swum to Newcastle and back. 8am is just too early to expect a King Street cafe to be operating. The closest I’ve seen so far on the long walk to nearly-St-Peters is someone mopping a floor. It would be alright if it was just us, but we have Quest guests this morning. Admittedly one of them is the Stropolina, who probably doesn’t count, being family and all, but the other is Jess, and she’s a media professional these days, so she definitely counts. We don’t want her standing around on the icy pavements of King Street, stamping her feet and watching her own steamy breath while we wait for somewhere breakfast-worthy to open. This could be a disaster.

Strop is unfazed. It’ll be alright, she says.

Blind faith and optimism is all well and good when you know things are going… I was just about to start making a fuss when we hove into view of tell tale signs of a functioning cafe: tables, chairs and banners advertising a well known coffee brand.

Saved. Foodarama is an early opener. Everything is going to be alright.

Foodarama has been a long time favourite of Strop. Her go-to coffee spot when she finds herself unexpectedly marooned at this far end of King Street. Despite the fact that I find it hard to believe that she ever unexpectedly finds herself anywhere, I have to admit that Strop has finely-tuned coffee receptors. I have been to Foodarama once, a long, long time ago. It was kind of grungy and nice, with good coffee.

This morning, the Foodarama we find has had a bit of a makeover. It is spick and span and a little bit spartan looking, but at least it is open. Coffees are the first order of business. Campos is the brand and my flat white does everything I need it to, but Strop has higher standards than most of us and finds hers lacking in some indefinable way.

With our coffees warming us up, we chat. Quite a bit. So much so that every time the waitress makes a move towards our table, she is scared away by the intensity of our conversation. Eventually, when our wit and words have settled down to a steamy simmer, Strop calls the waitress over.

Foodarama’s breakfast menu is divided into a big breakfast section and a small breakfast section. Which seems a bit silly to me. Who goes out to have a small breakfast? Slim people maybe.

It is my turn to take on the big brekkie offering, and because I want bacon I shy away from the vegan option towards the Big Fry Up. Oh well, some one has to.

Strop chooses the Moroccan breakfast which promises to come with dukkah, and the Stropolina and Jess both order the breakfast burrito. And orange juice.

We almost forgot the orange juice. Which would have been a pity because it is really very nice, although the Stropolina says she misses the pulp… her mother’s daughter.

The food doesn’t take long and looks good on the plate. My Big Fry Up doesn’t leave much room on the plate for manoeuvring. It is piled high with toast, very nice tomatoes and mushrooms, the best bacon I’ve had in a long time, and some spicy baked beans. The only disappointment comes from the eggs which are a bit too solid for my preference. But still, I’m well happy. Jess and the Stropolina are pleased with their burritos at first, excitedly discovering the jalapenos, but in the end they found the experience a bit disappointing. “Not enough flavours. Six and a half,” is the Stropolina’s verdict. Harsh. Strop too was a bit disappointed by the lack of complex flavours in her Moroccan breakfast.

Mind you no one left anything behind on their plates. Except me, I decided I didn’t really need the second piece of toast. Strength of character, right there.

Of course as we set out on the long walk back, all the cafes were open.

Left Luggage – Free for five days

May 18, 2015 by andysomething Leave a Comment

Coinciding somewhat coincidentally with the Sydney Writers Festival, the Kindle version Left Luggage is free on Amazon for the next 5 days.

I’m giving it away in the hope of garnering a few more reviews, so pick up a copy and see if you like it.

The next book is on the way, and it is a sequel with John Lawrence and Billy Sheehan featuring again. It’s taking longer to write than I anticipated but I’ll let you know when it starts to get imminent.

549 The Gallaxy – not quite the cafe at the end of the Quest

May 17, 2015 by andysomething 5 Comments

I’m sold. This place is great. Perfect eggs. Good coffee. The orange juice was freshly squeezed. A nice bright space with plenty of spare room on a sunny Saturday morning. Quiet. No canned music. What more could you want for your weekend breakfast? Service? Sure, just the right amount of care and attention dished up by friendly and efficient staff. Now if they could just spell their name right.

What else? Company. Our breakfast companion was Mark, a long standing PTB stalwart (Painting The Bridge is officially going all acronym now – it makes it look like everyone is saying the name so often that there would be a drain on national productivity if it wasn’t shortened).

We don’t see so much of Mark these days as he is currently dog-less and thus not a regular companion on the circuit around the park. So it was good to catch up. Good to talk about neighbourhood things like “Did you see what they’re doing to the bowling club?” and “What do you reckon your place is worth?” “That much? Really?” and “How’s your new house mate working out?” All that.

Mark drove us to The Gallaxy as the quest frontline has advanced so far that we almost need to take a packed lunch for the trip if we’re walking, and Mark had to rush off for a hairdressing appointment after breakfast. It was a perfect morning, sunshine, more parking spaces than we could reasonably use, and lots of smiling faces wandering about checking out the glory that is Newtown. There were a couple of people sitting outside when we arrived but plenty of room inside. We took a window table looking out onto the passing parade of pedestrians. There was a lot of traffic on the street and a lot of motorbikes. Presumably the sudden outbreak of sunshine had tempted a lot of two-wheelers out of their garages. Unfortunately, they all seemed to be Ducatis making slow but noisy progress through the King Street traffic jam. Oh well, at least they’ll be able to find a decent coffee.

We decided it must be Strop’s turn to take on the Big Breakfast, although she did side step the challenge slightly by going for the vegetarian option. I was half expecting her to order a side of bacon, but no, she played it straight. Mark and I went for the corn fritters. Having had my first choice gazzumped at our last breakfast outing, I decided that going with my gut instinct was more important to my gut than any concerns about doubling up.

The corn fritters were really good, coming with a kind of avocado and tomato salsa, and topped with bacon and a poached egg. Strop’s Big Vego Brekkie was full of tasty but unmeaty morsels, but she singled out the mushrooms for special note. They were perfectly cooked and had that buttery dry melty thing going on.

Our noshing and catching up was only interrupted by a phone call to Mark from his hairdresser wondering where the bloody hell he was. Oops. Got the time wrong didn’t he. You don’t want to do that too often with a Surry Hills hairdresser, you’ll get sacked.

Afterwards, now that he had nowhere special to be, Mark accompanied us to the button shop where Strop was on a mission to get some nice buttons for her new green winter coat. As Strop homed in on the heritage listed genuine vintage green buttons, Mark came over all helpful and fashion conscious, pulling out orange buttons, and yellow. “What about these? Or these? You want something that really pops. These red ones are nice.” It was fascinating, like watching a child skating out onto the thin ice of a lake, ignoring the cracks forming beneath them. As Strop’s smile got thinner, I realised it was time to distract Mark before he plunged into the icy waters. While Strop and the shopkeeper chatted about the historic origins of her chosen buttons, and how she should buy a few spares as they were irreplaceable, I gently pointed out to Mark that Strop rarely needs help choosing haberdashery. Basically, your button store, or indeed your sewing or knitting store, is a female domain, their equivalent of a hardware store, and really, we’re very rarely of any use in that environment.

543 Doytao Thai – Where 37 = 7.1

May 3, 2015 by andysomething 4 Comments

Here we are at another Thai place. Just like Sydney’s buses, they seem to travel in packs.

Doytao Thai is one of the few restaurants in this part of the King Street strip that always seems to be busy. It certainly was on the night we visited. The noise levels made conversation difficult at times, especially for those of us a bit older and harder of hearing. Which was most of us.

Doytao is a bit of a local institution, having been around for a while, and it must be successful, as it has spawned a Thai food empire. There are eight Doytao restaurants stretching from Boronia Park to Sutherland. They must be doing something right.

The Newtown version occupies a broad double frontage and has big louvred windows at the front. There are a lot of generously sized timber tables that offer a lot of room for a dining couple, however when they are arranged, say for a group of five or six, the poor people sitting in the middle have to straddle the joint between the tables as well as having to accommodate both table legs between their knees.

We were joined by some of Strop’s crafting mates for the evening: Cecilie and Susan. Susan’s husband, Ed, and I were just along for the ride really – our challenge was to try to steer the conversation away from dangerous and contentious subjects like crocheting or knitting, towards safer calmer conversational waters. I was imagining we’d be pushing topics like politics or religion, but Ed opted to take things in a deeply personal and affecting direction, into the kind of territory that is more common in royal commissions and the media, than it is in Thai restaurants. His story of his primary school days at a Melbourne Catholic school shocked all of us – except perhaps Susan. Ed is a proper writer (the type who do research and deal in facts) so his story may well end in a book. However hard it may have been for Ed to talk about, he did keep the conversation away from knitting and crochet. For a while anyway.

Eventually we moved on to the discussion of food. This led to Cecilie admitting that she now eats things. I was confused by this, but it was apparently a reference to the fact that Cecilie used to be something of a ‘fussy eater’. Although now the term nowadays is probably wuss. Or perhaps vegan. Her emergence into the world of actual food has been curated by her new boyfriend, who is by way of being a Slovak. They know a thing or two about food, your Eastern Europeans, especially meat, and especially pig meat. And other pig bits. This revelation led to a bit of reminiscing by all of us about dead pigs we have known, but that line of conversation came to an abrupt end when Ed told the story of visiting a friend’s house when he was a child and being confronted by dead pig in the bath. Being bled out apparently. It’s a wonder he’s so normal really.

The menus at Doytao are numbered, but not in a way that is useful for establishing the identity of number 37. It’s numbered by section – 2.3 or 6.8, that kind of thing – so we had to resort to old fashioned counting. 37 turned out to be 7.1 – BBQ Pork, which was subsequently confirmed by Susan’s recount. That was me sorted, time to work out what everyone else was eating. I put a veto on fish cakes after last week’s revelation on their pointlessness (although Susan assured me that her homemade versions were delectable – I’m waiting for an invitation). Cecilie decided to stick with tradition and go for Pad Thai in the vegetarian format and Susan was keen on the Roasted Duck Salad. Strop and Ed wanted to try a steamed fish. This was called Exotic Fish – a whole snapper with Tasty Sauce, and minced chicken, and ginger, and vegetables.

All the women had bought a bottle of wine which was good because the men had other things to think about. I did manage to drink a bit of all of three bottles: the prosecco, the riesling and the sav blanc. I think the riesling was the winner out of that lot. And probably me.

There weren’t really any standouts in the dishes we ordered. I enjoyed the BBQ Pork and the Pad Thai, although Susan reckoned it wasn’t as good as the Sailor’s Thai version. I don’t think any of us were really surprised by that revelation. The duck salad seemed a bit on the sour side to me, but there was plenty of duck. The fish was a bit disappointing – or rather the Tasty Sauce. The fish itself was nice but it was overpowered by a lot of glutinous sauce.

Despite having plenty of staff, the service at Doytao Thai was far from attentive. Except for water. The water guy was great, always coming up with a fresh bottle just when you needed it. Pretty much everything else we had to ask for. This left us with plenty of uninterrupted time for chattering, but it would have been nice to have been asked if we were ready to order, or to have the plates cleared away in one go rather than having half of them waiting for another twenty minutes, or to have been asked if we wanted dessert. We didn’t, but that’s not the point.