Letter From The Other Side from Cynthia


Dear Del,
I suppose you have been wondering why there hasn’t been any letters land into your mail box for the last week or so. It isn’t because I haven’t been trying to write to you it is the fault of my temperamental office equipment.

We bought a new computer and our printer which has always been inclined to sniff at any changes made to its connections or neighbouring machines has absolutely refused to co-operate with the new member of our team.

Eventually after turning everything off, unplugging all connections, trying again and again and ruining endless pieces of paper, I unplugged the dratted machine and took it to the computer psychologist who usually deals with our household’s electronic tantrums.
After driving quite a long way to his premises I was thoroughly miffed to find a note on his door saying he was away from the office.

Teddy lugged the printer back to the car and we drove home, re-plugged it all again and wonder of wonders it worked! Evidently when it plays up again it means it is simply feeling neglected and in need of a ride in the car, a little cosseting and a change of scenery. I suppose it is a cheap way to ensure it keeps working.

As you know Teddy is very fond of gadgets, so when we were looking to buy another car a few weeks ago he was is in element. The economic downturn has resulted in some very good bargains for sale and each car sales business has extra inducements to offer the potential purchaser.

We settled on a new all wheel drive after the salesman offered a choice of a coffee machine, some other thing I can’t remember or was remotely interested in having, or an electronic games machine. You know the type with interactive games like tennis, golf, ten pin bowling etc. The mere whiff of getting his hands on one of these toys lit Teddy’s eyes like beacons and he could hardly wait to sign the papers to make it his own.

He did have to wait quite some time as we needed a couple of extras added to the vehicle such as a tow bar and a barrier to keep the dogs safer in the back. This seemed a simple request but the level of communication between the workforce and salespeople of the business had some major gaps in it which meant we waited a couple of weeks for everything to be completed and for the car and the precious Wii to arrive.

At first as we unpacked it and Teddy set it up on our television I wondered why there were instructions for the operator to strap the handpiece to his or her wrist.

It didn’t take me long to find out and why these things are being purchased all over the country for the residents of retirement villages and such.

The ever present competitive streak came to the fore while we played and I realised as Teddy flung himself into serving at tennis or batting at cricket that he was a threat to our crystal cabinets and their contents plus the large windows we have throughout the house.

At my insistence the Wii was moved to the family room television where the furniture is sturdier and more able to deal with visiting grandchildren and over enthusiastic grandfathers. As yet, the grandchildren haven’t had much of a chance to play with it as Teddy spends too much time demonstrating his skills to them. He has also bored a few friends who aren’t interested in computers almost to tears. I suspect they will have the sense to stay away for a few weeks until the novelty wears off or perhaps suggest meeting in public places away from his latest toy.

It has been quiet for the past couple of days because he played golf for such an extended time he is too stiff to move very much. This is now my chance to try out the balance and fitness disk I bought.

It dented my enthusiasm somewhat when I had to face the awful truth after my weight and height was taken and the rude thing told me in its childish computerised voice my fitness level was that of a woman ten years my senior.

I intend to get the damn thing to apologize during the next few weeks.

They are great fun and during the very hot days when we can’t possibly venture outside it is a good way to waste a couple of hours and keep us from the ever present urge to nod off on the couch.

Did I tell you he has requested a telescope for Christmas? I shall have to warn our friends and family. I told him I wasn’t buying the Hubble so at least we have established that fact.

Love from your gadget controlled

‘flower child friend’ Cynthia.

Letter From The Other Side by Cynthia.

Dear Del,

The last letter I wrote about the Melbourne Cup reminded me of other race meetings Teddy and I have attended.

Usually they have been country meetings, all very informal and relaxed affairs.

However when we visited Teddy’s parents in England for the first time in 1977 we decided to attend the Derby Day races at Epsom.

I wanted to have a day out and as it was a race meeting I could at least look forward to enjoying the sight of some open space, however small it may be.

I think I was feeling a little hemmed in at the time by the close proximity of housing and narrow British roads which made me feel claustrophobic.

Teddy wore a new pair of trousers, a fashionable pair of brown checked flairs. Remember the type? When my father-in-law looked him up and down, quite an effort for him as he was a very short man; he remarked candidly that Teddy would feel at home at the track as his trousers made him look like a bookie.

Teddy ignored him. His father was prone to making personal remarks to most people.

It was a warm day by English weather standards and I chose an outfit from the predominantly casual clothes I had packed to take with me. I hoped the dress wouldn’t make me look too much like ‘Tilly from the bush’ as my mother was heard to say about rather frumpily and unfashionably dressed women.

From memory, getting to Epsom was easy and by the time we arrived, there was already a very large crowd milling about and enjoying the sunshine.

As happens at the Melbourne Cup, the crowd was segregated by the capacity of an individual’s wallet. Probably, since we were in England, blood lines played as much role with the people as they did with the horses in the enclosure.

Either way, we joined the ‘plebs’ around the track.

Our view was limited particularly for me but we could occasionally hear the thundering of the horses as they flew past our area and the cheering from the stands when the race had finished. We had very little idea of the outcome of any of the races and could never hear what was being announced.

Sometimes a kind person would shout the name of the winner for everyone around us to hear.

I think I spent most of my time not having a clue of what was happening on the track but listening and observing the English having a good time in their natural habitat.

Because of the pressing crowd and warm day we consumed quite a lot of cool drinks and inevitably I began to search for the ladies conveniences.

The only ones I could see available were of the type our tradesmen call ‘thunderboxes’. You know those metal portable loos you see standing in a remote cleared area on building sites, looking all alone, rather lost and rejected like a metal mock-up of a Dr Who’s Tardus.

Well, when one is in need they are better than nothing.

Perhaps the organisers had expected a blizzard because there were only eight to ten of these boxes supplied for the enormous crowd around the rails.

Someone had seriously underestimated in the equipment hiring department because the queue waiting to use them was so long that one of the women who saw me looking toward the distant tail-end said as I gasped in wonder at the length. ‘Stand in line love, because if you don’t want to go when you start waiting, you will by the time you get to the front.’

The murmurings of agreement, discomfort and discontent were loud and colourful as we slowly shuffled forward unsuccessfully trying to keep our minds off the reason we were standing in line.

Some ladies were feeling extremely distressed and the comments became insulting about the male dominated lack of organizational skills which must have been responsible for the ever growing snake of aggrieved women.

Eventually, a marvellous woman a few yards ahead of me stepped out of line. She wore a beautifully cut beige linen suit, a fine broad brimmed expensively trimmed hat, lovely shoes and carried a matching leather bag.

“I’m absolutely fed up with this!’ She said loudly in a voice rich with the vowels and diction of the Home Counties type under extreme stress.

“I am fed up. I will not and cannot wait any longer.’

She walked across to the lines of parked cars, raised her skirt, and with a degree of modesty and aplomb I still admire, sat on the bumper bar of a highly polished four wheel drive and relieved herself.

We all clapped as she straightened her skirt, readjusted her hat, sighed with relief after waving to her admiring audience and disappeared back into the crowd. Many of us followed her example and the queue shortened considerably.

Amazing the things which can become the highlight of an outing isn’t it Del?

I believe a horse named The Minstrel ridden by the famous Lester Piggot won the Derby that year but that woman made my day.

I hope your horse won last Tuesday at the Melbourne Cup Del. Mine strolled along in the middle of the pack enjoying the scenery and admiring the legs of the filly in front.

From your slightly poorer ‘flower child’ friend

Cynthia.

Letter From The Other Side, from Cynthia.
The Melbourne Cup.

Dear Del,
The football finals are finished thank goodness.

Our team won the premiership but of course that won’t stop the Melbourne news reporters from referring to our town as Sleepy Hollow which is wearing a little thin with many of us.
Now of course we are into spring and all the beautiful people emerge from their winter chrysalises for the racing carnival.

Outfits with idiotic confections of lace and feathers sit on heads which have been stewed in new expensive marinades of face creams and hair colourings. Lips and facial lines are plumped with Botox or else have been under wrapping for a few weeks following rearrangements by plastic surgeons. This has sometimes caused trouble in households where the children begin to look older than the parents and daughters in their mid thirty’s refuse to be seen with mother’s who appear to be younger friends……the family resemblance having been erased years before..
Even the shoes with heals high enough to stake the standard roses which grow around the race track will have cost as much as it would be to finance the feeding of a village in a third world country for a decade.

Many of the people both male and female would do just as well with a sign saying ‘Look at me”. It would probably be just as attractive as the outrageous costumes and far cheaper.
The rest of the population look on with a peculiar mix of disdain, amusement and envy.
The whole carnival culminates on the first Tuesday of November with the running of the Melbourne Cup which is quite rightly called ‘the race that stops a nation’.

There is an old saying that Australians will bet on two flies walking up a wall even if one of them is dead.

For this one race of the year we all become instant racing experts and almost every person in the country, with exception of the few who are in a coma, will have a bet or be in a sweep. Probably some of the relatives of those who are too ill or infirm will put a bet on for them.
All offices, schools, nursing homes, factories or groups of friends will organise sweepstakes.
At the time of the race most work stops and the road traffic becomes grindingly slow as people listening to car radios can be seen thumping their steering wheels while momentarily forgetting what they are supposed to be doing. Pedestrians pathways are deserted as everyone dives into the nearest electrical goods store to watch their chosen nag on television.

Specials trains and transport to take the thousands to the race are arranged. The police and governments love it because of the extra tax raised and also because of the revenue raised by the speed cameras as the people rush to get a park and are later caught again by breathalysers. The state government coffers get a tremendous boost from our collective addiction to gambling.
Melbourne has unusual weather patterns and is able to produce four seasons in a day. The locals arrive with extra jackets and umbrellas. Some years everyone swelters, others they are drenched. Often the sea breeze strengthens to a cold gale and inflicts the unprepared with a severe case of goose-bumps and skin which looks like a plucked chicken.

The television news will show the same glamorous people returning home at the end of the day.

By the early evening the well groomed, sleek and dapper will be dishevelled, windblown, walking unsteadily or unable to stay upright and will be lying asleep on the picnic rugs or grass, minus their shoes and much of the money which had been in their wallets.

Around them the immaculately groomed grass and grounds will be covered with rubbish which will take a small army to clean and clear away in time for the Oaks Day crowd who are, from what I’ve heard, a very much better behaved and refined group. One may even spot a few top hats amongst the men which I feel is rather a tedious affectation but I suppose no worse than women wearing the ridiculous hats this year’s fashion dictates. They all seem to be falling off one side of the wearer’s head and my fingers itch to straighten them before they land and get trodden on.

Those able to still rearrange their mouths sufficiently to speak will assure anyone who asks that they had a wonderful time and will do it all again next year.

Bart Cummings, one of our leading trainers, was asked this year if at the age of eighty two he thought he may be getting a little old to train another winner this year. He looked at the brave reporter briefly and said ‘Why? I haven’t told the horse how old I am so he isn’t worried about it, why should I?’

Good on you Bart, I’ll be backing your horse again this year, I like the colours he wears and his number is lucky for me, what was his name again? You see, I know my horses just as well as anyone Del.

I hope your horse comes in Del, from your old filly friend,

Cynthia