Fishy tales

There's no doubt about it, Sydney Aquarium is fantastic. In terms of a day out it's right up there with The Great Wall of China, a trip to Ibrox or an afternoon with Uncle Angus.

There were long queues outside the Aquarium on Saturday morning

The kids are super-hyper as they've wanted to go there for yonks but for one reason or another we just haven't got round to it. I guess not living in Sydney for the last 38 years might have been a factor. I'm fairly sceptical, thinking what’s the big deal about a couple of fish in a tank? Mind you, I was most pleasantly surprised by the near death underwater snorkelling experience in Fiji, so I'm perfectly willing to admit there is a slight possibility I could be wrong.

Saturday eventually comes. Being a weekend, we decide to have a lie-in and don't get up until 6:00am. This turns out to be good practise for the following day's promised “even longer lie-in” when we forget the clocks go forward and get up at 6:00am again.

Make a packed lunch: good job I bought that 20 pack of rolls, I congratulate myself. We're getting through about 8 a day. That block of tasteless cheese has been a first class investment too. Some nice refreshing tap water to wash it all down and we're off! Ah sod it, I'll throw in a packet of ready salted too. Why not push the boat out, it is Saturday after all.

 

Things that bite you and a shark

The miaow-miaows comes in to inspect what's going on.

"Out my way, miaow-miaows, we're busy!"

"Miaow."

"Don’t you miaow at me, miaow-miaows. We're off to the Aquarium, so there!"

"Miaow."

"Yes, that's right, dad," says William "and there's lots of fish there, isn't there, dad?"

"Yes. I would think so."

"And sharksh" says Tom

"Yeah, you wouldn't like it miaow-miaows, so you're not going," enforces William.

"Miaow-miaows would actually like it," explains Katy. " He would like to eat all the fish. Wouldn't you miaow-miaows?"

"Miaow", nods miaow-miaows.

I feel ill.

"Yes but he wouldn't be able to, would he, dad?"

"Hmmm?"

"The fish are in big cages. And the sharks would kill him. Then Katy would be sad, seeing miaow-miaows head bitten off."

"You guys are mean," says Katy

"Mmmmmmmmm, MIAOW-MIAOWSH!" shouts Tom, jumping high at the same time as shouting.

The Tourettes seem to be developing nicely across most of the family members. It's spreading outside as well. I now have a friend (who shall remain nameless, in case he gets sacked and divorced) who periodically says "miaow-miaows".

We have conversations such as…

"Going for a beer tonight?"

"Miaow- miaows"

"Ah. Very funny. Did you see the game last night?"

"Yes, miaow-miaows."

He's in banking, so maybe it’s understandable.

What's happening here? We're going well off track on this blog. That blooming cats fault.

Anyway, I blame the pussy and escort him off the premises. I might need a holiday.

 

Well, one can wish, can’t one? Thx for the card!

I hang out the washing, uncertain to do so up or down, as it’s my first one in Australia. I complete in truly efficient time management style. I notice the veggy patches I cleared last week have now got weeds bigger than the stars of Day of the Triffids . Funny the vegetables never grew that quickly. Decide I'll worry about that later.

 

See? domesticated me, I am.

By 6:05 we're ready to go. Ah, slight mistake. The place doesn't open until 9:00am. We arrive at 8am. There's some foreign student thing sitting on the steps in line ahead of us. Looks like he's been there all night, probably on an exchange from Peru and has never seen a fish before. Doesn't look too smart from the outside, neither does the Aquarium. I knew it, I thought to myself, this place is rubbish! More touristy tackety clap trap. Maybe we should have lunch now, rucksack is blooming heavy.

I ask a man for directions but he just points us to the platypus. Great to see one of them – funny wee things. A bit like Esther Rantzen with her tongue out.

Wow, there's certainly a lot of fish in here! Not only fish, there's killer crustaceans, jelly fish, eels and slippery, slobbery giant fish. Even dugongs (which I keep thinking are called Dungas, after the Brazilian midfielder – there is a resemblance) are there. Best of all are the sting-rays. Those guys are super cool. Smiling in a most sinister manner ready to kill at half a chance. Black fish, blue fish, yellow fish, fish with stripes, hairy fish, baldy fish, clever fish, slow fish, fish with poor personal hygiene, all swimming around in circles like a bunch of paranoid Scousers on the run. The sharks are OK but a bit boring. They don’t attack anything. William tries to smash the glass to see if they want a piece of him. 

 Kids go bananas and shout constantly at me, as do all the other kids with their mums and dads. They in turn look to the heavens and try to lose themselves in the world of fish, wishing Captain Nemo really did have a house 20,000 leagues under the sea.

“Dad, dad, look at that fish!"

“Hmmm?”, staring at 10,000 of them I decide to nod and say “yeah, well done, cool!”

“Dad, dad, did you see the shark’s bottom? It was filthy!”

“How do sharksh wipe their bottomsh, daddy?”

I’m ignoring that one. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, look at the jellyfishes!” raves Katy, the sensible one in the quartet. I’d like to have some quiet time with her pondering the aquatic social issues of the day and marine biology in general. Alas, there are more insistent matters to attend to.

“ Can I have a jellyfish?”

“ No, you'll have a roll and like it.”

 This is my fave photo, a plastic inflatable squid on the ceiling.

Failing to cope and feeling a tad envious of the dads that have mums with them I come up with a plan. 

I develop three standard answers which I randomly rotate.

"Cool!”

"Oh, isn’t that a big one!"

"And sorry, I missed that!"

And my personal succour punch that I was really proud of “guys, guys, did you see the massive tartan fish? Keep looking – might be way over there. Don’t worry, I’ll wait here.”

I give up trying to read the fact sheets about the fish, environmental aspects of marine life and why sharks get such bad press these days. It's all Steven King's fault seemingly. I promise myself to go back alone someday when I'm less busy, to learn more, probably when I'm 82, have developed rickets and about to give up football.

Katy in her usual studious fashion has taken a notebook and selection of freshly sharpened pencils. She scribbles notes avidly and illustrates sharks. Periodically she shouts a fact at me…

"Blue tailed sharks grow to 8m and 44.5 cm, approximately!"

"Nursing sharks like temperatures of 22 oC best and are considered a delicacy in many parts of Southern Indonesia.

I take a selection of high quality videos and photos, some of which actually show the aquatic wild life, not just the land versions. Four hours fly past. It's been a great success. No whingeing, no fighting, no complaints, no miserable faces. I think the kids enjoyed it too. 

 

Like ravenous dungas we wolf our lunch then wander on.

The tale should really end there but it doesn't. One of those super Sydney afternoons where you just stumble across something going on. Usually it's a bunch of naked fire-eaters or an acrobatic didgeridoo player. Today it's some Spanish fiesta thing, totally free, at Darling Harbour. We wander over.

Two young ladies do a Sumba on the stage. It's the dancy thing that Jenny's started doing. They implore the crowd to join in, staring squarely at me and my unshrinkable 6ft 4” frame. Not effin likely mate, I think, the rucksack is still very heavy and I’ll look a right nancy. I try to hide behind Katy but it’s no good, the Kids go for it and the lady next to me gets really carried away. I think she really should have been carried away. Of course, I yield to the pressure, drop the ruckie, wiggle my bum about a bit and pary I’m not on day time TV. It's a pretty nice atmosphere, to be fair, and the kids don’t seem too embarrassed by their dad.

Then tradegy strikes.

The Spanish Flamenco dancers come on…very nice they looked too. All red dresses and black hair, even the ladies, feet a stomping, head held high, arms up...oh no...oh no...finger clicking. Loudly.

I lower Tom from my shoulders so he can’t see. It's too late , the damage is done. He’s very concerned that they are better than him. I look to the sky for inspiration.

At first nothing comes apart from random thoughts and questions, “why cant you buy cabbage in Australia?”, “should we move to a bigger house or accept what we’ve got?”, “how would I fit a kayak on to the car?” I worry about my nuts consultation on Thursday.

Then it comes to me…

“They are castanets, son! They are not really clicking their fingers. They’re rubbish.”

“Oh. You rubbish!!!!” he shouts.

William joins in with his new pet phrase, usually reserved for shopping, “It’s a rip-off!” then “It is, isn’t it, dad?”

“Let’s go see the dance troupe from Patagonia singing about the lamas, lack of local amenities and how the people are usually revolting.” I suggest. 

Katy takes notes.

Hope she doesn’t read that out at school.

They truly are awful. It starts raining- heavily, an act of God.

I think of the washing and we head for home.