Archive for the ‘Gerard Oosterman’ Category

If you drown at sea, you will be spared the horrors of Nauru.

October 22, 2016

imagesI5LQBIC6 refugees

Australia used to be kind to refugees/ migrants like Italy is now. However, it has lost its way and punishes refugees by imprisoning them on Nauru for not having drowned at sea.

Watching this program shows abuse of  refugee children in detention on Nauru. (be warned: it has confronting images)

Bob Dylan seemed to have understood the issue.

I pity the poor immigrant
Who wishes he would’ve stayed home
Who uses all his power to do evil
But in the end is always left so alone
That man whom with his fingers cheats
And who lies with ev’ry breath
Who passionately hates his life
And likewise, fears his death

I pity the poor immigrant
Whose strength is spent in vain
Whose heaven is like Ironsides
Whose tears are like rain
Who eats but is not satisfied
Who hears but does not see
Who falls in love with wealth itself
And turns his back on me

I pity the poor immigrant
Who tramples through the mud
Who fills his mouth with laughing
And who builds his town with blood
Whose visions in the final end
Must shatter like the glass
I pity the poor immigrant
When his gladness comes to pass

Vapid verbiage from Government. ( and seniors)

October 20, 2016
Put and call options.

Put and call options.

The problem with old and ageing retirees. They have so much past and much less future. Till some magic pill is discovered that will make us go to two hundred, at the moment the bell tolls for those over seventy. Time is running out. Yet time is also most in supply. There is so much of it. It is no wonder they take to vacuuming and mobility scooters. Their engagements with bowels and Aldi become more important as years go by. It gives us something to talk about.

But, given the latest on the Australian News, Parliamentarians are not any better. While the old might bore us to tears about their toilet plights or daily routines, the Government’s endless drivel about the advantage of five over seven bullet Adler guns is not giving us much relief either. Watching TV News is what drives us more and more to drugs, reading books, scrabble and eating chocolate.

I was surprised when someone knocked on our door. It’s not all that often we get visitors. I opened the door. A girl stood there who kept looking nervously over her shoulder. Was she going to sell me heroin? It turned out there were two of them. She asked if I would look at a magazine. By the look of both of them I was sure it wasn’t a dirty picture book. It turned out to be ‘The Watchtower.’ ‘God is here to save us all’, she started boldly. I smiled friendly and this encouraged her to read something from a biblical St.Paul. I stepped in. I thanked her for the visit and told her I was hard of hearing and strengthened my argument by also telling her that both hearing aids had flat batteries. It was half true. One of the hearing aid was giving me the familiar beep heralding the end of the battery. They left after that unconvincing excuse. My guilt went into automatic.

I have an unfriendly sticker on my door as well: ‘do not knock.’ We used to get so many Foreign Students trying to make us change our Gas and Electricity accounts. We relented a couple of times. Our British neighbours are forever blaming ‘foreigners’ As a general rule, the darker the skin, the more they are suspect. A few weeks ago some plants were stolen. This caused great consternation in our housing compound. Some reckoned it was (dark) Isis, others claimed we stole them ourselves. There is just nothing about some elderly people’s fantasies that eggs them on to the most absurd conclusions. They have all that time. I put up posters stating ‘Thieves About.’ Since then we have installed a CCTV camera and a solar movement device that lights up each time movement is detected outside our front door. I have tried the device out night after night and it works brilliantly. Even after a couple of dark days.

I decided to take one of those Google psychological test to find out if one was still within a range of being normal. The first one came out with a score of 33 which took me to a dangerous level of being psychotic. It urged me to talk to a councillor which had her phone number at the bottom of the test. I was flummoxed. I went downstairs to reflect or relish on the latest gloom. After a disturbing nap, I took a different test. It came out worse. It even had a little red flag. I had apparently mused over the word ‘suicide,’ as a result over a question, ‘have you ever thought about suicide?’ You were to answer; never, sometimes, often or always! I answered ‘sometimes.’ After many question I was urged pronto to immediately seek a good shrink. No guessing their phone numbers were well advertised below. I could understand ‘always’ but just ‘sometimes?’

In any brain are embedded all sorts of possibilities of thoughts. Life, death, birth, young and old, car driving, walking, bungie jumping and…suicide. Not as a desire but food for reflection. I prefer not to restrict my thoughts.

It seems that using a word raises red flags. I would have thought the idea of importing Adler rapid self loading Guns to be far more indicative of the mental state of our Government.

They are the real nuts.

The tandem Mobility Scooter and the Cordless Vacuum cleaner

October 18, 2016
Mum in Holland with a Hoover electric vacuum cleaner. (not cordless)

Mum in Holland with a Hoover electric vacuum cleaner. (not cordless)

Sorry  talking about the weather. But, after last week’s balmy summer days it has turned winter again. I had packed away the flannel summer pyjamas only to suffer a cold sleep last night. ( three toilet visits) It was 3C this morning at 6 o’clock. I should have closed the windows.

I spoke yesterday with a man riding his mobility scooter near the Bradman Cricket oval. It looked brand new. I asked him, and he confirmed it was only three months old. He obviously took pride in it. He also told that the range of the battery (lithium) allowed him three trips up and down to the shopping- centre arcade. ‘Nine kilometres in total,’ he added proudly. ‘It gives me mobility and independence which I would not have otherwise.’ ‘My wife has one too.’

This made me think if there are any of those scooters in tandem for two people to use. He did not think there were. I am sure there would be a market for them. You could have one person sitting behind the other or, even cosier, next to each other. That would of course mean the tandem mobility scooter not able to go through normal doorways. I am sure that there are couples who both need mobility, and independence, when walking or driving becomes impossible. Hence my idea of tandem Mobility Scooters. The same could be said about those Zimmer frames and rollators. Why can’t they make them for dual use? It would be a rather touching sight to see elderly happy couples going about their ways sharing them in an intimate fashion.

I must also share with you the joy of having bought a cordless vacuum cleaner. With our rough coated Jack Russell, there are hairs everywhere. He sheds his own weight in hair almost daily. It is embarrassing. If visitors are expected, I am forced to vacuum. I am generally not shy of domesticity and enjoy very much shopping and cooking. Vacuuming is not on my list of pastimes that enhances or gives satisfaction. The noise of it and the tethered cord of the machine irritates. We have a Danish made one and it does a good job, but it still gets hooked at corners and bangs around the book shelves. I show the JRT ‘Milo’ the bulging dust bag but he turns away. He needs a shrink, really. What arrogance. Helvi doesn’t vacuum. She reckons the vacuum cleaner is too complicated. All that ‘on and off’ button pushing must be so challenging.

My brother said: ‘why don’t you get a cordless one?’ It hit me like a bolt from the sky. ‘Are there any that really work,’ I asked enthusiastically. ‘Of course, we have had one for years,’ he said. We got very excited and next day went to Godfrey’s Emporium for vacuum retailers. They are a Mecca for vacuum cleaners and always give good deals. I have often looked in their windows and noticed a huge change in vacuum cleaners. The more expensive ones seem to mimic a kind of rocket with all sorts of fuel chambers on the side. It would not surprise me if they double as an anti domestic violence weapon or mobility escape device.

The salesman showed us a much cheaper demonstration model, slightly used but with two year warranty. It looked nice, was bag-free and came with attachments for cleaning corners and around window ledges. It has a belt driven brush. The Danish corded vacuum cleaner has a brush at its foot but it doesn’t rotate. When the salesman noticed a bit of wavering he stated; ‘it comes with lithium battery.’ This was the card that the salesman played at the very end. He knows his customers.

The word ‘lithium’ has transformed the battery world. Everyone talks about their gadgets having ‘lithium.’ Our Vacuum cordless is the Hoover and its name is ‘Freedom.’ ‘How’s your lithium going today?’ Often overheard at street corners.

The Couple on the Train.

October 15, 2016

Almost There

Train travel is now almost done without rail employees. You can’t buy train tickets anymore. A few weeks ago we walked to the local train-station to try and travel to another station to pick up the grandsons. We hopefully went to the locket to order our tickets. The man behind the glass panel shook his head. ‘No way, tickets for the pensioners are now only available through ‘Opal’ ticketing system,’ he said. ‘If you don’t have Opal you have to pay full fare.’ ‘Fair enough,’ we answered. ‘Please, two returns to Campbelltown.’ ‘Oh, no again, you can’t buy tickets here.’ ‘You must buy from the machine near where you are standing.’ The full fare was $14.50 each. Normal pensioner tickets is $ 2.50 all day, no matter where you go to. The machine is complicated, at least for us, used to logic and straightforward paying with cash to a person and not a machine.

The really strange thing is that you can’t buy the Opal card at railway stations. You have to do that ‘on-line,’ or at certain News-agents or shops. I am proud to announce that I managed to achieve this electronic journey on-line without any assistance or nervous breakdown. Both Helvi and I now have an Opal Card tucked away in our wallets. We each have $20,- credit on it. The world is now our oyster and we can travel at any time by train. I wonder what happens to those credits when people cark it. I bet there are millions of dollars laying about from people whose last journey was the train to Rookwood. Feeling as ‘Crook as Rookwood’ is one of my most favourite expressions.

Using Opal requires a form of tapping a pole each time getting on and off the train. No-one really checks if you have ticket. The poles all over Australia must store your identity and synchronises it with this Opal card which is in your name and linked to pensioner number. It also comes with its own pin number and password. Each time you tap the pole with your Opal card, the travel cost is deducted from the money that one has credited the Opel-Card with. Amazing technology, but what happens if you travel by train and walk past those poles? Does the pole do something? Do they take a photo? How does the pole know you haven’t tapped it?

We have as yet to try it out. I have seen the system in action. We watched people tapping the pole. It looks hilarious. I mean, who would have thought that normal adults, totally sane people, would get a card out and tap it against a steel post? The post doesn’t say or do anything. At least in supermarkets, the automated scanning cash registers give you a receipt and even are polite enough to thank you for having done the shopping. I always wait for the announcement, ‘Thank you for shopping at Woolworth, the Fresh Food people.’
I even answer, ‘no worries.’

This Body Corporate life.

October 11, 2016


The hostility by some of my fellow residents of our housing complex sometimes borders on the plain silly. On my approach they turn around or start coughing. Of the eight homes four are lived in by owners and the other four by people renting. Of the owners, we are the only couple. An item on its own a solid reason for their chagrin. The other three ‘owner homes’ are occupied by bitter divorced women. The husbands are probably still running or celebrating their lucky escapes. The eldest, apart from being bitter, divorced, and eighty-three years old is also the ‘chairperson’ of the ‘committee’ in charge of implementing the rules of the common held property. She does so with the fervour of Stalin. The Chairperson makes a big difference between owners and renters. She is also English and hints at being Prince Philips illegitimate daughter.

It is sometimes thought that in ageing people soften up and become less hostage of their nastiness or being mean-spirited. That’s not really true. Those with so much time on their hands still needs their attention to be focussed on something. They can’t just dwell on misery or relive past spousal battles. Those with nasty character traits will sharpen them and exercise those skills in doing harm to others. They have all that time. Readers might remember my twenty minutes career in being secretary of the same committee of our housing complex. I resigned when I was expected to write nasty letters to my fellow residents (the renters) about non-existing car parking problems.

Lucky that we have nice immediate neighbours who also happen to rent. They are busy and go to work each day. They sometimes pop in, exchange the latest gossip. They too are aware of the bitter divorcees and their obsession with trivial. It gives us no greater subject to regale upon than to speculate what next rule they will dig up from the Strata Law manual…They have meetings whereby they have Strata Law readings. Lately, the subject of ‘gardens’ have been perused. A letter was sent. “Three dead plants have to be removed opposite the common-held garden of the Oostermans.” A clear war declaration and reprisal for refusing to cross swords with my neighbours about parking, ( by-law 33d) Narrow-mindedness is increasing with age.There is nothing much we can do about it.

The Mobility Scooter looms for millions.

October 9, 2016

41yjSAQeq1L__SX331_BO1,204,203,200_ oosterman treats

You know that when the birth rate drops below replacements, we oldies are all going to suffer. Even Catholic Italy, which used to pride itself on breeding like rabbits are now not replacing its citizens fast enough to replace the dying. In Australia we still have a healthy intake of migrants, but even here the ageing population is putting a strain on almost all services. I wonder who will visit me when placed in a care-home? In Holland they have already introduced a form of visiting the elderly by harnessing school kids in volunteering to visit the lonely oldies staring wishfully behind their ‘updated’ aged-care windows. I am not sure I would welcome a know-all eleven year old to visit me. It could be boring.

In Holland too, they now try and ‘update’ elderly care which in many cases means less staff and heightening the bar for entry into an ‘aged care facility.’ One has almost has to have one foot in the grave or half-way into the crematorium-oven before a place might be found into an old age home. By that stage, most elderly have exhausted their savings and the kids inheritance. Fat chance now of cranky kids visiting Grandpa sipping his weak tea! This is why more and more old people are encouraged to keep going without needing ‘updated care’ in the horrors of an Anglican ‘Eventide’ facility.

I suppose, my own ‘Government initiated Health Assessment’ is one effort to keep me on my toes as long as possible. Strange, that Helvi has not received that request! Perhaps women stay healthy longer? This explains that old age homes feature mainly women. It must be very challenging for an old man to be surrounded by mainly elderly women and their never ending talk of ailments, the weather or food.😉 Smiley!

One of the advances made in keeping us mobile is not just to keep on walking but also the availability of the mobility scooter. More and more seem to prop up. I believe one has to be in need of one of those before one can get one. Are they licensed or does one need to get a test done? With many an elderly person slowing down and reacting more slowly, I wonder if accidents occur? With two of those coming from opposing directions will the footpaths need widening. What about in super-markets? Do they fit in between the turnstiles. What about inside the shops? Will the lane between Toilet Paper and Asian Food facilitate the mobility scooter. I have witnessed a local woman parking her mobility scooter at the local hospital, and seemingly quite sprightly, walk up some stairs to enter and possibly visit a sick friend.

In the local Australia NRMA ( Road and Motorist) organisation’s magazine a bewildering assortment of the Mobility Scooters are now advertised. Some come with shopping bags, either in front or stowage opportunity below the seat. It shows turning circles and tip-over ratings. I noticed a local man happily scooting along while puffing away on his cigarette. I wonder if his smoking has caused the need for his mobility scooter. Did he develop diabetes and did he get his toes amputated as a result? Apart from smoking I noticed him taking photos around the place. It is an admirable way of ageing while keeping on his toes!

We still are walking each day. No need to think of a scooter. It will come about that walking will get less. I do believe that road rules will have been introduced for those mobility scooters by then. What about parking those scooters. Imagine the queues at shopping centres? Will there be incidents of Mobility Scooter rage? I can hardly imagine special ‘invalid parking’ spaces for those scooters. There will be millions of them!

It makes one wonder.

You have now been ‘encrypted.’

October 8, 2016


Yesterday wasn’t a good day. I received a bill from our energy supplier. This same supplier, AGL (Australia Gas Limited) enticed us with a quarterly deduction of $5.- if we paid our bills ‘paperless.’ Going ‘Paperless’ is now the latest fad sweeping the world. You can tell, by the confident strides of people on the world’s pavements who now go through life totally ‘paperless.’

A common question and a good way to start social intercourse at parties is to ask, ‘are you paperless yet?’ Or, less common and sometimes seen as a bit of a friendly reminder or slight rebuke; pardon me Sir, your lack of ‘paperless’ is showing. At those internet quick sex of Romance and Introduction websites, some now ask to show their PL status. ‘Gent, 68 years of age, fully PL and NS, NG, ND desires a nice fulsome woman with some desires to go PL, seen as an advantage but not necessary for a jolly relationship.’

Yesterday was also the inauguration of our latest acquisition, a mini-pizza oven. We always wanted to get back into pizza’s and pizza cooking. This pizza oven fits on a table and made in Mexico of stone. We bought some special hardwood kindling. We thought we would first try out some marinated Angus Porterhouse with foil wrapped spuds and a couple of red capsicums.

This was before the ‘not so good’ came about. Let me explain. I usually hold off going to my computer to check e-mails or the latest hurricane making landfall. The coffee and early mornings’ spousal natter always takes precedent. After the ‘how did you sleep’ with ‘how often did you go to the toilet’ gets over, we heave ourselves from the sofa. Milo knows the ropes and precedes us going upstairs. Milo is followed by Helvi and then me. We switch the computers on. Milo slinks under our desk. It might be another two hours before we take him for his walk. He knows and resigns to this routine. He still gets miffed why this takes so long.

After I perused the news and open the inbox for a flurry of messages to blacken up my screen. I delete many, especially the enticements for Twitter and Facebook paraphernalia. I do answer most of the kinder posts and gradually follow the black list of inbox mail to the very bottom. One of the E-mails was by AGL to pay a bill and take advantage of doing so ‘paperless.’
‘Download your Statement,’ it urged me on, in its devious and pernicious manner. It also said; Thank you! (including the exclamation mark) THAT should have been a warning. But, I am not the sort of man that picks so niftily up on the mind of criminals. True, I do pick up deviousness in Strata monsters and have a well developed sense of people drunk on Body Corporate power, but for serious internet crime, I remain pure.

As soon as I pushed the ‘download’ on the AGL bill, all hell broke loose. I was asked to ‘run’ and ‘open’ the statement, but no statement came. I pushed again and again. Then a warning popped up to draw my attention that my files hade now been locked and encrypted. I needed to pay money to unlock my files within 72 hours. If not paid within that time, the amount would be doubled. I was given an ultimatum. It also infected my home-screen with the above message. I could not get out of it, no matter how I closed everything or re-opened again and again. I was so furious and spent hours googling for an answer. There are lots of help lines and web- sites. They too are often Malware/Ransomware sites. It is a mine-field out there. Microsoft did not give me much hope. They did say that many just pay up and get their files back.

Anyway, I have an American Friend from California. A man who from way back was interested in computers before they even came about. He steered me by phone to do this and that but mainly go through a very long scanning process. Each time I had pressed the ‘download’ button I invited the ransomware virus. It finally went and my home screen is again showing Milo. There was still time to fire up the Pizza oven and it was fantastic. The meat and spud just timed perfectly. The capsicums nice with just a hint of charcoaled skin.

All is well, but it came close to murder.

Dear Gerard; your Annual Health Assessment is due

October 5, 2016


I rarely get letters addressed to Dear Gerard. Yet, it happened. It was yesterday. I could not believe my eyes. And it was followed up by my address too. The postman could have read it through its clear-plastic address window. The ‘Dear Gerard’ letter is urging me for a yearly Health Assessment. An Australian Government initiative to keep the elderly at home as long as possible. In my previous post I pointed out the dreadful risks taken when housed in a Private or Government ‘care’ facility. It would give Kurt Wallander unlimited material for spine chilling TV crime busters. The dreaded mid-night nurse approaching with the needle!

The world wide problem of aged-care is finding strange solutions. In The Netherlands some relatives have found solutions for their ageing parents by secreting them away in the Ukraine and Slovenia. Are the Polish salt mines being converted to aged care facilities next? One old Dutchman was even found wandering round a Thai Airport. In the US, the aged are simply being dumped along highways or heaved over the border-fence in Canada. Ungrateful children found out their keenly awaited inheritance had been (wisely) spent, or worse, they now were lumbered with a debt. Grandpa was very fond of the casino.

This Government too will stop at nothing to avoid having to fork out money to care for its long suffering former tax paying elderly citizens. Hence the invitation for the Health Assessment. I went through the same thing last year. I came through with flying colours. I managed to fold a piece of paper, bend over and put it on the floor in front of my feet. Nurse commented on my still supreme mental agility in following an order. I thought, but did not say, I had still far more interesting facilities still in order as well.

The invitation to this Government supported Health Assessment Party this year includes a few more mouth-watering options. The outstanding ones are levels of continence and my fall status. Can you believe it? The assessments of moods and memory will also get judged by the Practise Nurse. From memory, I remember having filled in a form last year that included not wanting to stay alive if it meant artificial feeding or breathing.

I wonder if I could get a bracelet “No resuscitation, please.” An exception might be made if resuscitated by a woman! Would I need an extra bracelet for that option? I would not like a mouth to mouth performed by a bloke. But, who knows? I haven’t yet thoroughly contemplated and reached that option.

But there is still time.

More eggnog from soup bowls with Euthanasia clinics

October 3, 2016

Almost ThereThe Netherland’s Right To Die Movement for the over seventies has been so successful they must have a serious membership turnover. The latest push is to have Euthanasia clinics available at those retirement homes for ‘clients’ who feel they have an uncooperative doctor to sign the necessary papers.

The Right to Live movement also have a spirited body of opposing members. They are much more likely to keep their membership card. They feel the best way forward to senility is to make old-age homes more jolly. The main problem is that for many, ending up in a retirement home is not all that it is cracked up to be. Sure, some get by with the obligatory visit by children. They put off visiting the old fogey with a brave grin, to once every six weeks or so, despite the offering of a little eggnog with a demitasse spoon. At times it is just not enough to keep the old going. Some of those might wish for a way out, either six feet under ground or up through a chimney of the retort.

The Dutch retirement homes do their very best with lots of bingo, goldfish aquariums, community outings to the manicured garden of a Keukenhof, or Swan Lake concert, the twice weekly fitness events, musical soirees and fashion shows. For the oldies to stick around for a little longer is much to the joy of the Right To Live Movement. Even so, a couple of years ago The Right to Die Movement for the over seventies in The Netherlands collected over forty thousand signatures in no time. There seems to be a challenge in giving people a choice. The cost of retirements is going through the roof so one can see that the Governments world-wide would not be all that opposed to a bill giving people a choice in the matter of leaving the party a bit earlier and get a decent rest in the outback of the ‘never never.’

Just reflecting on how retirement homes in Australia are just riddled with incompetent staff. Worse, they now seem to draw on murderers filling vacancies. The oldies are left to rot in their beds.
I would not like to end up like this poor old man either.

And then last week a man was charged with the killing of three old people with overdosing them on insulin. He would text his mates alerting them on a future date when the next one would get the fatal needle.

So, really it seems a neck on neck race with either being given a choice to exit peacefully at own will, or look carefully at the needle or medication that nurse might be give you next when in need. I would not fit in with bingo, or fitness classes either and will probably end up asking for the eggnog in a soup bowl and given a large spoon.

That is enough gloom. I’ll write something more cheerful next time. Gerard.

The deep fried squid was a bit fishy

September 29, 2016

41yjSAQeq1L__SX331_BO1,204,203,200_ oosterman treats

We had promised to try again a restaurant in Mittagong. Mittagong is next door to Bowral and has that Australian old town feeling. A couple of pubs with original fronts together with few mansions still indicating a former glory. Apart from that, our dog JRTerrier Milo has a bitter enemy but behind the safety of a solid glass shop front, inside which electrical globes and lights are sold. The dog behind the glass is menacingly black and huge. A large and formidable Labrador-German Shepherd mix. Milo is pulling maniacally in order to get as quickly as possible to the shop, ready for a blood curdling killing. Each time we visit Mittagong with Milo it follows the same ferocious procedure.

As he pulls us on his lead towards the shop with the monster dog you can sense the tension in Milo. He crawls flat tack hugging the street’s shop fronts till we arrive at the front-line of Milo’s enemy. He wants the attack to be a total surprise. Milo’s feet are scratching the footpath. He is so keen. The huge dog is peacefully unaware of what is to come and asleep behind the entrance when Milo arrives. Instantly all hell breaks loose. Pedestrians scatter into the kerbs. There follows about five seconds of a terrifying ferocious snarling. Teeth are bared and clatter against the glass. Hairs are upright. I am afraid the glass door will shatter. I drag Milo past the door and all is back to normal. The frightened pedestrians might say; ‘my goodness,’ resume their walk. Milo had his fun.


Milo contemplating biting a bit.


But, as we had a nice meal in that restaurant before we thought to give it another go. It is an unlicensed place and perhaps café might be a better description. It is unpretentious and no one greets you effusively or shows you a place to sit. There is a mishmash of different seating arrangements, including soft chairs but also hard benches with long tables. You can fill your glasses with water from a large bubbler on a table with selections of all sorts mustards and sauces. It serves food on ceramic plates. I think serving food on wooden boards might be on the way out. I am not sure about the Himalayan salt shakers. This world and its fashions is now so fast and becoming more and more incomprehensible. It is not surprising so many elderly people withdraw and retire on park benches having a private little sob before bravely continuing on.

I ordered the same dish. Deep fried squid on an Asian salad. Helvi had trouble choosing. The café prides itself on serving alpaca-meat dishes. The friendly waitress suggested to Helvi to try it. Helvi told her as an anecdote that we used to breed alpacas. ‘It would be like eating our own babies’ Helvi answered with her glorious smile. The waitress laughed and understood. I suggested to try a beef steak dish with chips and salad. But, as so often happens. New people were running it and the food wasn’t as good as expected. My squid smelled a bit fishy on arrival. The deep frying did not deter the squid from telling me it was well past its prime, and much to its credit gave me a fair warning. My hunger, as usual, wasn’t brave enough to leave the squid well alone.

Helvi’s steak was also not the best. A little sinewy and a bit teeth defying. The chips were fair and she shared them with me. That was nice. The salad was a bit mushy. The lingering on its own behind the counter for a couple of days did not enhance or make it any more Asian.
Anyway, we all had a good time. Milo greeted us with his usual welcoming wagging tail. I reckon his fight with the black dog always cheers him up.

He loves going to Mittagong.