Grumpy

Translation: Why the third degree, Hazel?

Hazel

Translation: Why always such a sour-puss, Grumpy?

Albany, ALLbany, Derby, DArby

Haze and I have just returned from an overnighter in Western Australia's oldest town, Albany. With ANZAC day fast looming, it's poignant to note Albany was the marshalling point for the Australian ANZACs, and the last place many of the poor buggers set foot on Australian soil.

Movie buffs may recall Albany as the port from which a fresh-faced Mel Gibson set sail for international fame and fortune via Gallipoli.

A former Southern Ocean whaling town, Albany has much in common, scenery and whaling wise with the Tasmanian capital of Hobart. It also reminds me of Punta Arenas in Chilean Patagonia, but now I just sound like a travel wanker.

It also has lots of granite - some of which once tethered the Australian mainland to Antarctica. As this was way back in the days of Gondwanaland, only the very oldest ANZACS could remember it.

The Albanians honour their granite almost as much as their ANZACs. So here's a picture of Albany's Dog Rock for you.

You can ring my bell

Here's Perth's bell tower.

Hazel reckons it looks like a beetle burrowing head-first into the ground. I think she's spot on.

The tower contains the Bells of St Martin in the Field, which were made famous by some old poem or other.

The tower is a symbol of Richard Court's years as Liberal premier. He was ousted on the back of criticism he was spending too much money on Perth's north shore to the detriment of the rest of Western Australia. Subsequent Labor governments have disowned the bell tower.

But I like it.

Jabba the Hutt

I'm back in Australia, having seen the new year in with Prince Leonard, Princess Shirley, their sons Crown Prince Ian and Prince Wayne, and various minor royals, of the principality of Hutt River Province.

I, in fact, was the only interloper on hand when the clock chimed midnight. But the royal family's hospitality made me feel like I was a royal too.

A neighbour of the prince's even took me pig shooting. But we encountered no feral pigs - just some bunnies, foxes and a big red 'roo.

And no, I didn't get amongst the shooting. I'm a city-slicker who just went along for the ride. Fascinating stuff, though.

Prince Wayne also went out hunting - with family friend Mick. At one stage they were confronted by a wall of feral hog - one hundred of the cranky buggers, charging their vehicle.

But no guns for Prince Wayne. He lets the dogs bail the wild tuskers up, jumps out and hog-ties them himself for a later rendezvous at the dinner table.

That's tough.