There's no business like snow business

Here's a Photo Peach slideshow from today's freak summer hailstorm over Penrith.

Penrith PS in December: a white Christmas

Saturday to Saturday: a week in pictures

As my 365 Photos project heads to its culmination, there are nights where I'm really scratching for subjects. Makes me wish I'd gone vacationing away from home more often this past twelve months. Mind you, I did find my old, expired passport last week, so at least I can apply for a new one more easily.


Johnny jump-ups begin to bloom. 17 April 2010.


Not a toilet for three men, but an elevator. Annoying signage for people
desperately seeking a restroom. Penrith Railway Station. 18 April 2010.


Truck on the building site. 19 April 2010.


Neon dog-walking lead. 20 April 2010.


Vases and cookie jar. 21 April, 2010


An artistic busker left this chalk painting behind in Sydney's CBD tonight.
That loaded trolley was wheeled across the artwork several times
while I waited to get a good shot. 22 April, 2010


Fruit before bedtime? 23 April, 2010


Storm clouds gather over Springwood. 24 April, 2010

Not a creature was stirring, not even a gargoyle...

Aftermath of a Sunday afternoon torrential downpour, with hailstones and thunder, which saw my garden creatures still sheltering wherever they could. See? Even gargoyles have the sense to come in out of the hail.

My Easter pilgrimage

Not counting the religious significance of the holiday, somehow it never seems like Easter Down Under without a trip to Sydney's Royal Easter Show. Due to my ongoing dieting attempts, there has been a noticeable shortage of chocolate temptations around the house this year - although the supermarkets really seemed to go overboard this year. (I haven't checked, but I'm anticipating lots of cut-price chocolate Easter goodies to be offered this week. Resist, I must.)

Some years I've attended the Show with friends, and sometimes I've given it a miss altogether, but I often feel like I've missed out on something when I don't go at all, so I took myself today. It was a glorious day for it and, while the attendance seemed high, it never really felt claustrophobic, except for some of the bargain areas of the Showbag Pavilion.

Nothing much to report. I make a point of watching Shane St James, the hypnotist, when he's at the Show - always good for a laugh - and a brisk tour through all the commercial stalls and the arts, crafts and bakery displays is essential.

I didn't really pick up any bargains of note, although I did stock up on some packets of Bondi Chai Latte Tea, my current fascination in beverages. Yummo.

It's times like the Show, the Zoo, and toy stores at Christmas, that I get wistful that all four of Uncle Ian's nieces and nephews spent most of their childhoods in Queensland. Sigh...

The glorious weather held until my return train approached Penrith Station - and thus I got to trudge home in a raging thunderstorm.

Rockin' readin'

Western Sydney had a powerful thunderstorm yesterday afternoon, with lots of wind and hail - and about 10,000 homes were without power for well over twelve hours.

I spent the first hour trying to keep plastic drop sheets stretched over the two spare lounge suites still sitting on the front patio after the delivery of my new suite a few weeks ago.

The warm water hitting the pool in the back yard, on an already humid day, started green algae blooms almost immediately, and the deep, bilious colour spread swiftly across the depths as the wild wind filled the pool with bark, leaves and luckless spiders and frogs.

As the evening grew darker, I lit some candles, and began cursing the fact that I couldn't cook, boil water for coffee, or even read. I tried to read by candle-light, but it just wasn't strong enough to light the page. Sigh. In the failing daylight, I did briefly take my book out onto the front patio and, of course, sat right underneath a drip. Ick. (So much for keeping the book in mint condition.)

As night rolled on, a brainwave struck! I braved the rain to retrieve four solar-powered, imitation rock, garden lights from poolside, and set them up on the lounge room floor so I could keep reading. All to the tune of the electric burglar alarm, setting off its annoying whining signal every five minutes, to warn that its power supply had been unexpectedly cut off. And the screaming - oh the screaming! - of the local frogs, celebrating the day's unexpected precipitation.



Fred Flintstone would be so proud of me!