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Unfortunately, I have no recollection of the first time I heard John Martyn’s voice or masterful guitar work. I don’t recall what grabbed me ‘hook, line and sinker’ and made me a devotee of his music. I don’t know at what time he became my favourite musician of all time, assuming a mantle previously held by Powderfinger, Pearl Jam, Counting Crows, Ben Harper, Ani Difranco and Nick Drake.

But he has sat there on top for a number of years now and I’m continually amazed by his words and thoughts and their interplay with some of the most majestic guitar picking my ears have beheld. Later compositions, ‘riddled’ with synthetic drum beats, electronic organ and Kenny G-esque saxophone have taken a while to grow on me, but grown on me they have – simply the evolution of music through the hazardous waters of the 1980s and early 90s.

By all accounts, John Martyn lived, played and drank hard and it was this hard living life that no doubt shortened his illustrious life and career. His last few years were troubled by illness, one such bout necessitating a double amputation at the knees. His understated (in my eyes) talent is illustrated by this relatively brief wikipedia entry.

Martyn passed away on the 29th of January this year, right about the time Storm and I had passed the worst of the Nullarbor, and I only found out this morning whilst doing a trawl for some notation of ‘May you Never’. I’d dreamed a few weeks ago that I’d seen him in concert and that he was shortly to die. I remember feeling immensely sad as I awoke from that dream, regretting that I’d never had the pleasure to see him play in the flesh (particularly during his 1970s heyday). It is a sadness that I feel acutely today; ‘A little strange’ given that our assocation lives purely within the musician/listener interface. Still you can’t help how you feel and I am truly saddened…

So, for those who haven’t had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with John Martyn’s music, I present to you my all time (thus far) playlist of his tracks. If you’re rich or iTunes inclined, you could do worse than download some of these tracks… The difficulty will be in shortening it by some measure… Many of these songs have a number of versions – studio and live – and I have selected those which I think are best.

1) Couldn’t Love you More – One World (1977) CD2, Track 2 (There are a number of versions but the one from the ‘One World’ Album is my favourite and possibly the most beautiful song ever…)
2) May You Never – Solid Air (1972-3) Track 7

Ok, they’re probably my two all-time favs. The next are chronologically listed (1 per album) to give an idea of change in times and style

* Sandy Grey – London Conversation (1967) Track 2
* Sing a song of Summer – The Tumbler (1968) Track 1
* Woodstock (Track 5) and Traffic Light Lady (Track 8 ) – Stormbringer (1969-70)
* Head and Heart – Bless the Weather (1971) Track 6 – A number of other excellent songs on this album.
* Over the Hill (Track 2) and Go Down Easy (Track 5) – Solid Air (1972-3)
* Ain’t no Saint – Inside Out (1973) Track 3
* My Baby Girl – Sunday’s Child (1974-5) Track 4
* One Day without You – Sweet Certain Surprise (1977-81) Track 12
* Hurt in You Heart – Grace and Danger (1980) Track 6
* Never let me go – Live in Bristol (1983) Track 9
* Don’t want to Know – Philenthropy (1983) Track 2 – covered by Beth Orton on her first album
* Spencer the Rover – BBC in Concert 1986 (rel 1992) Track 2 (Folk song cover)
* Fisherman’s Dream – Live at the Shaw Theatre 1990 (rel 1995) CD1 Track 9
* Bless the Weather – No Little Boy (1993) Track 12
* A Little Strange – And (1996) Track 5

* The Cure – Accoustic – I’m not sure which album but you can get it on the DL by right clicking the link

I’d be more than happy to make a compilation for anyone who’s interested…

RIP John and I hope you enjoy some of his amazing music…

There’s not much to do for the two and a half weeks until I start work except wait… and get a National Police Clearance. In Queensland, there was no such requirement, with the Government apparently having no aversion to possessing crooks in its ranks, as evinced by Sir Joh’s extended occupation of the top job.

Unfortunately for me, the nearest Australia Post was out of the forms and would continue to be so for the next few weeks. Other branches were apparently likely to be in a similar state of depletion due to a recent spate of applications and police clearing.

Thus I was turned away and told to fill out and print the online form and return it UNSIGNED so that my signature could be verily witnessed and verified. But not between 12 and 2 or after 4 and not without unclipped ear and nose hair or a second toe longer than the thumb-toe.

Turned away thus, I set about my tasks: clipping ear hair and filing back fleshy toe ends and tracking down assorted ID artifacts. With filled form and bleeding feet I made my way back to Australia Post to have myself cleared of all ‘reported’ crimes. Luckily mum and dad didn’t report me for stealing shrapnel to play the arcade machines at the local takeaway store. Does a ‘grounding’ show up on a police clearance?

With my ID confirmed, I set about the incredibly difficult task of signing off on my application. I say this with retroflection given that, unbeknownst to me, there was an impending show-stopper lurking in the midst. You see, my (consistently unique) signature has a loop on the J and a long tail crossing said letter. It turns out that the entire signature had to fit within a moderately sized tetragon. The fact that this fact was written in bold next to my nemesis-quadrangle should have wisened me up. However, ecstatic that I was about finishing the process and distracted by a clarity of sound due to an absence of ear hair, I missed it.

And thus I was defeated by a quadrangle. The 4 micrograms of ink spilled outside those borders of black rendered the entire process null and void. The fact that these 4 micrograms of ink were wasted on mere flourishings and embellishments of my normally staid signature mattered not. And given that they were still out of forms, no expedient corrective action could be taken. Shunned by the quietly spoken Jefferey with a casual ‘Next Please’, I was metaphorically shown the door.

Good thing I’ve still got 18 days to get it done…

Storm and I live in reasonable proximity to a fantastic book store, Planet Books, which is full of the kind of folk I could imagine myself chatting to over coffee, scrabble and acoustic accompaniments and the kind of books I’d love to sink my teeth into. In our first outing there, while Storm was engaged in the Dance and Autobiographical sections, I meandered to the Classics area, keen to make good on my internal promise to attempt to read a number of the classics and by extension the Top100 book list.

Ignoring the urge to read another Dickens tome at the expense of other lesser known (to me) authors, my eye drifted to the familiar orange and white backdrop of a pile of Penguin classics. I perused the pile at length, at last settling on two distinct yet equally appealing titles: ‘One flew over the cuckoo’s nest’ and ‘Jane Eyre’.

I digested the former first, assuming a pace commensurate with the goings on of McMurphy and his band of nuts. Whilst mildly discomforting and unsettling, the second half of the book was very hard to lay aside and a couple of decent sessions enabled me to polish it off in relatively short order. Storm will now have the pleasure of wishing to continue and cease reading simultaneously…

While I’m only 6 chapters into Jane Eyre, reading it has reminded me why I love delving into older literature. A familiarity with modern vernacular and turns of phrase (perhaps with the exception of the likes of David Foster Wallace and authors with a propensity to unnecessarily drop obscure, difficult words, like trophies, into their prose) means that the English language takes a back seat.

In older novels, however, the dynamism (and evolution) of the English language is brought to the fore. Euphemistic and linguistic oddities (at least to the modern eye) pique an interest in the language itself, no longer consigning it to the analogous equivalent of a ‘Coolibah tree’ in a primary school theatrical rendering.

We’re (or at least I’m) encouraged to think about the roots of words that we use mutliple times in quotidian life. Once firmly established linguistic pairings, where one has now fallen into obscurity, become reunited and illuminated.

The simple example that dragged me down this path of drivel is the word ‘ruth’. I have no memory of reading or hearing or using this word in isolation yet it abounds in the form ‘ruthless’.

“ruth – /ru?/ [rooth]
– noun
1. pity or compassion.
2. sorrow or grief.
3. self-reproach; contrition; remorse.

Origin:
1125–75; ME ruthe, reuthe.”

Other examples include the use of dread as an adjective “a dread place”, the use of ‘quail’ as a verb, and the employment of words such as ‘opprobrium’ and ‘animadversions’.

In other instances, I’m happy to see that words like ‘dingy’ have a heritage much longer than I would’ve presumed. Who knows what other gems will be turned over in the course of the next 500 pages?

On the topic of language, I did notice the phrase ‘they’d of’ in Cuckoo. Would there be anything wrong with taking two well entrenched abbreviations ‘d and ‘ve and making a triple composite “they’d've”? Is there a precedent, or a future, for such a contraption as this?!? Or will it meet with a tumult of insuperable animadversions and dread opprobrium?!? Ummm… ok…

SO I was right and wrong. I was right that we could confine our spending to food, rent and puncture repair kits. Storm and I eat like kings on the equivalent of Peter Piper’s pitiful pepper-picking pittance. Of some concern though, I have already had 2 punctures in less than a week… I’m thinking about setting up a puncture counter on my website and a betting comp for how many times a stick, burr or bit of glass will deflate my spirits… My money’s on 27 times for 2009.

I was wrong, however, about my establishment of a Soto-coffee ritual every morning of ungainful employment. Stuff that!… too expensive! For the price of 2 coffees, I can get hopped up, Italian style, in the comfortable confines of my own home multiple times. Although, with 260Mb worth of updates needed for my new Ubuntu OS, I might indeed have to duck down for one last coffee and some free wi-fi tomorrow!

Sorry about a second consecutive recipe post but they are a little less thought consuming than other posts. That, and this recipe is fantastically delicious, quick, and relatively cheap. It was first shown to me by Matty B in my 7th Ave days and is one that has given me solid browny points with Storm when sprung on her as a surprise – her quote, ‘it rocks my jocks’…

All the cooking steps are logical to the point that having just typed them out, it almost seems foolish to describe them in detail; but maybe, just maybe, it’ll encourage some people to give it a go and impress unsuspecting dinner guests. After all, how often does someone cook calamari for you outside the fish and chippery scene?

You will need, for 3 or 4 -

* 2 tubes of squid (easily acquired from the deli section of supermarkets for about $8-10 a kilo)
* 1/2 a cup of milk
* 1/2 a cup of flour
* chilli (fresh or paste) and garlic to taste
* canola or olive oil for frying.
* Salad makings of your own choosing (a spinach based salad with cooked potatoes goes very well I believe)

How to -

1) Slice the squid tubes once lengthways and unfold with the skin face down.
2) Score the soft side (the side that is facing up) of the squid with a sharp knife in diagonals, being careful not to cut too deep.
3) Slice the squid into horizontal strips.
4) Dip the squid strips into the milk (in a shallow bowl or the like) and then coat with the flour. When stacking them, be careful not to get them all stuck together.
5) On a high heat, get the oil warmed and add the chilli and garlic (according to taste/heat preference). I use about the amount of oil that it takes to thinly cover the bottom of the pan.
6) In batches if necessary, add the calamari and quickly stir it through the chilli, garlic and oil. Once stirred through, let it sit and cook for a 1-2mins on that side.
7) Flip the calamari, stir and cook for another 1-2 mins. The appearance of the calamari should go from translucence to an opaque white (similar to fish and chicken).

Ideally your calamari should be well coated in the Chilli Garlic deliciousness, have golden brown crumbs and not be too tough (on account of overcooking)…

As already alluded to, I generally serve it with a nice, fresh green salad – as an example, a spinach base with cherry tomatoes, capsicum and small potatoes (cut in half and microwaved for 5-6 mins in a bowl with glad-wrap and 1cm of water) with a squeeze of lemon on top.

Voila! – http://www.jameses.org/home/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/img_7739.jpg

Also, apologies to those that received 3 blog posts in one email… The program that sends them out seems to have had a fit – I would never knowingly bombard anybody with that much drivel in one hit

Storm and I were coming to the end of our grocery supplies and I thought I’d like to polish off what fresh produce there was so we could have an entirely ‘fresh’ start. Bubble and Squeak seemed the logical way to use up the last spats and spots of veges, including cauliflower which has an annoying habit of going off before being fully utilised. The following recipe is the B&S I made today although you could easily change ingredients according to taste or available items. In my mind there are three necessities: a) fried veges; b) a mash of some description; and c) an eggy mixture. The exact makeup of the first two is a matter of details. The beauty of B&S is that it takes about the same amount of time to fry the veges as it does to boil and make the mash, meaning you’re never really waiting around for things to get shaking!

Ingredients:

For Frying – 1 Onion, 1/2 green capsicum, a handful of beans, a few small nubs of cauliflower, some snow peas, 1/2 a decent zucchini (Mushrooms would’ve been a nice addition although they never last long in our house).
Mash – 1/2 a Sweet Potato, 2 Small Potatoes, 1/2 a head of cauliflower (1/2 a head of fried cauliflower would’ve been too much; mashing it adds bulk but hides the flavour a bit)
Egg Add-in – 3 eggs, a dabble of milk, black pepper.

How to –

1) Chop the Mash ingredients into small pieces and get them boiling.
2) Finely cube the onion and capsicum, and chop the beans and snowpeas into 1-2cm lengths. Chop half the zucchini into cubes and grate the other half.
3) In the frying pan, get the onion and cauliflower nubs going in some canola oil. You’ll want a relatively high heat. Add the capsicum and some chilli and/or garlic paste for taste. Stir through well. You will need to add water at decent intervals to get the veges to soften up.
4) Add the beans, cubed zucchnini and snowpeas according to perceived cooking times; with bubble and squeak you’re almost better to have them cooking for a bit longer than too little.
5) As the vege mixture was cooking, I added some Worcestershire sauce for flavour (I think Lancashire sauce might’ve been a bit nicer). Add the grated zucchini and mix through.
6) Make your mash (not too creamy or runny) with a bit of milk and some butter and leave aside for a little bit.
7) In a decent sized bowl, mix the 3 eggs with a dabble of milk and some cracked pepper.
Move the vege mixture to the upward side of the frying pan and add the egg mixture to the pan (on a relatively high heat). Let the egg cook on its own for a bit, stirring it to get all the egg to solidify.
9) Add the mash to the vege mixture and stir through the egg. When the goodness is well mixed through, pat the B&S down till it is even all over, turn up the heat and let the underside crisp up a little bit. If you would like some toast, whack it on now.
10) Add B&S to toast, with crispy side up for presentation; cherry tomatoes and parsley would be a good garnish.
11) Invoke the ‘he or she who cooks does not wash up’ rule and enjoy some crappy weekend telly.

Although it’s more of a breakfast-afternoon lunch sort of meal, I think it would go fantastically well with a couple of lamb chops. It’s also the sort of comfort food that would go well with a winter hangover

{Ed. It seems I’ve moved up in the world since Toad on the Road… or have I?}

The latest batch of travel pics can be found at http://www.jameses.org/photos/perth-trip3/

It was only 5000 odd kilometres into our trip when we saw our first roo, about 10m away whilst travelling at 120km/h. Needless to say, my heart jumped as high as the roo did when it realised he was about to contribute to the mass of animal and bug matter on our front grill…

It was an interesting phenomenon, and one of the quirkier elements of our long drive west. We’re not even sure at what point it commenced but once we became aware it was omnipresent. I guess this is the nature of many phenomena – seemingly nowhere, and then {BAM} everywhere – think corduroy in the 70’s (and mid-90s), pop-balls in the late 80s, and bluetooth headsets in the neo-wank era.

And, like most fads, trends and taste defying fashion phases (think Normanby hotel on any myriad of Sunday afternoons in 2008 – I mean maternity dresses and fluoro-vomit-patterned-dress-boardshorts?), it ceased, abruptly.

At some point past Whyalla – maybe Wudinna, Ceduna, or in the proximity of one of the many silos, wheatfields or turnoffs that guide the way – drivers starting waving as we went by. As we progressed closer to the edge of the Nullarbor, the habit became much more consistent. By the time we were fixed on our black line to oblivion, with nary a spot of shade for hundreds of kilometres around, the probability of being waved at approached 1.

Like all things in life, there were a large number of variations:
* Hand held on the steering wheel with any number of fingers raised;
* Includes the single-digit salute, two finger peace sign and, rarely, the full fingers/thumb combo;
* Hand removed from wheel and held up but still;
* The enthusiastic ‘yeah man, we’re crossing the nullarbor!’ wave with jolly sideways oscillations;
* The driver & passenger combo; or
* Any of the above with a head nod or wink.

Regardless of form or gusto, the wave held a symbolism for me. It basically said,

‘We are aware that things go wrong out here and we’re just checking to see if everything’s cool with you; on the flipside, everything is cool with us.’ Or in some cases, replacing the latter half of the sentence with ‘Yeah man! We’re crossing the Freakin’ Nullarbor Dude! In a wicked camper with no aircon and a punctured spare tyre!!’

If I’m even remotely near the mark, I think it’s cool that the ‘perceived’ dangers of the Nullarbor (whilst only seldom experienced) help to establish a camaraderie amongst travellers of all ilks and destinations.

Then again, it could simply be something to break up the monotony of staring at a black asphalt, dotted lines and vast skies for as far as even the most long-sighted eye can see. Most feasibly, it’s a mixture of the two.

All I know is that past Norseman, when trees abound and water is plentiful, the phenomenon ends… Whilst most phenomena in the realm of fashion and pastimes are ended due to the passing of some point on the time (or common sense) continuum, the Wave Zone appears to have finite and well defined geographical limits.

So, if you should ever be heading out west, or into the desert (or into the heart of Lakemba) to a place where there is a collective awareness of a latent danger outside the chassis of your automobile, see if you notice the Wave Zone. Do as Storm and I did, and see how many fingers you can average, cursing the lazy beggar with a one-fingered go…

And take a can opener, because you never know when your girlfriend will get a hankering for tuna and tomato corn thins on the way….

…so I can be reminded what I wish not to be.

{Bit of a long post, avoid if necessary}

Life’s a funny thing. It’s pretty easy to get caught up in your own little web of affairs, gradually changing who you are – slowly dissolving character traits you once held dear, reinforcing habits that once you might have shied from or laughed at. I find the process is so disarmingly slow that by the time I’ve cottoned on to what’s occurring, the opportunities to take restorative action have somewhat diminished (or at least the perceived effort required is in itself prohibitive (the 9 stitches effect)).

Now I’m sure there’s an element of nostalgia or retrospective attribution that affects the perceived shift in character, but I think the basic premise holds.

When the web of self-absorption gets a bit sticky, it’s a good thing to look around and actually perceive others and observe which character traits you admire and, converse, dislike. Then, grab that garment and try it on for size…

This post has been borne of two examples I’ve thought about this morning and so I’ll quickly share them now.

1) Good mothers and others.

Upon returning to my house each day the first thing I’m bound to hear is the lady next door shrieking at her two daughters (~2 & 4 yrs). She shrieks at them over every manner of thing, from holding the door shut, to not sharing, to being little girls. The foot of concrete that separates our houses dulls the sound to a high pitched mulled-whine, but with doors open the sound is intrusive, overbearing and relentless.

As one sans kids, I shouldn’t pass judgment too quickly; however, I have the pleasure of knowing some fantastic mothers; mothers that treat their children with respect and love and consideration for one’s hearing and sanity. Examples include my mother, aunties, sister, sister-in-law, close friends, friends’ parents and so on. I know people who are soon to be fantastic mothers: Shelly, Steph and Lynda.

My neighbour seems to thrive off the negativity that fills her house (and mine) and has given me cause to reflect on the extent I now focus on the negative side of things. Once in that mindset, I find it a hard thing to shake, yet one that is worth shaking…

As if some augury of a day in 20 years time presented itself in my lap, the lady’s mother was present today, shrieking in much the same way at her daughter and granddaughters. I guess that ‘like breeds like’ and, boy, I will resolve to refrain from shrieking at my kids, unless of course they beat me at Playstation 7.

2) Golden Oak
Alcohol…. love it. Specifically beer. Sometimes, hanker for it. And have trouble stopping at one. Always have.

Coming to Perth has been a good opportunity to settle down in my boozing ways and learn to be happy sober. This has become all the more apparent with a girlfriend who doesn’t really drink and where the drunk-sober divide becomes particularly apparent and personal.

Enter Guts, a friend of one of my flatmates whose subsistence consists of Golden Oak cask wine (the cheapest), consumed by the mug-full prior to going out. Now these boys go out about 6 nights a week. Ruby Room, Hippie Club, The Dean, back to the Hippie Club and so on, week by week. Every night, mugs of Golden Oak go by the wayside, to the extent that I recommended that Guts just take himself out the back and punch himself in the liver and kidneys a few times and save himself a handful of dollars and a bad night’s sleep. It reminds me of travelling, when one’s life becomes a pseudo-reality devoid of the decisions and consequences that inhabit and hamper ‘real’ life.

Knowing Guts and his Golden Oak soaking ways has been a real eye-opener, and motivator. Were it I’d known him longer than 2 weeks, I’d probably suggest he find his own moment for reflection, especially when it comes to drink driving, which appears to be rampant here in WA.

Ok… I’ve rambled longer than I’d originally anticipated, but this post is in part to solidify these thoughts and if necessary revisit them should the lesson be forgotten. I’m well aware of the thought-action divide, but the journey starts not with the first steps, but with tying the laces…

The aim is to keep the photos coming in small attention-span sized chunks. So, without further ado, the photos from Adelaide can be found at http://www.jameses.org/photos/perth-trip2/