Good manners... an essential life skill

Good manners and customer service are essential skills in business and life.

 

Many people believe a good tourist officer is all that is needed to put their town on the map and will campaign vigorously to their local shire council for one. A far more effective and economical means of promoting a town is through the local residents and businesses themselves. It won’t matter how great a tourist officer is, if the town isn’t friendly people won’t stop a second time or recommend it to their friends.

 

I am always astounded when I meet inhospitable people working in hospitality. When I think of a certain small town in South Australia I remember the sour-faced café owner who in April 1996 grudgingly made me a chicken salad roll. I was on my way to Broken Hill with my (then) husband Duncan to visit my mining engineering brother Tom. Thinking we would do our bit for this town’s local economy we stopped to buy fuel and some lunch.

 

What a mistake that was. It soon became obvious that we had ruined this woman’s day by requesting lunch. She grumbled her way through the task at hand, with a sneer she pushed the plates with requested rolls across the counter, snatched our money and then vanished into a room at the back of the café. No smile, no thank you, no “have a nice day”, “where are you from?” or “where are you going?”, nothing. I concede it is possible the other inhabitants of this little anonymous town are lovely, but I will never ever stop there again if I can possibly help it… I don’t think Duncan’s been back there either.

 

There was certainly no lack of hospitality on my excellent adventure to Western Australia that concluded last weekend. My second last night in Perth was spent enjoying a family dinner with Mary, Rod, Ann, Sam, Geoff, Rosie and Jack. My last day in the state’s capital included coffee in Kings Park with Mary and meeting up with Barham’s own Lisa Campbell. My trip ended as it had started with Lisa and I lunching on beer and pizza at Little Creatures and coffee at Gino’s. Jay gave me an early morning lift to the airport the following day where I caught a plane to Adelaide to spend a few days with the Osters of Prospect. By happy coincidence I also met up with the Osters of Barham who were visiting the Osters of Prospect as well.

 

Last Saturday morning on the final leg of my excellent adventure found me driving into the small Wimmera town of Warracknabeal around nine o’clockish and feeling famished. I was in need of a strong coffee and a bacon and egg muffin. The lady at the Café Peppercorn couldn’t have been more helpful. She smiled, she was polite, she made great food and excellent coffee and the prices were very reasonable. My knowledge of Warracknabeal is limited. Nick Cave the musician was born there in 1957 and the town’s name is taken from an aboriginal expression meaning “place of big gum trees shading the waterhole”. Now I can add: home of Café Peppercorn, good spot to stop.

 

In August this year my buddies from Hay were on their way to Wandella for the Under 14s AFL semi final and stopped en route at Barham for breakie and snacks. They emerged from the Riverside Café smiling and singing the praises of Gina and Hamish and the Riverside’s fantastically friendly staff. Will my Hay friends stop in Barham again? Will they talk to their friends and family about their very positive experience at Barham? You betcha.

 

Good manners in the form of a smile; a thank you; a helpful attitude are simple but powerful life skills that make all the difference, no matter where you are. I’m looking forward to implementing these life skills on Monday when we welcome the participants on The Great Victorian Bike Ride.

Western Australian adventure continues...

“Life is uncharted territory. It reveals its story one moment at a time.” Leo F. Buscaglia

 

Last week’s exploration started with a day trip to the historic township of New Norcia with my grandmother’s sister’s daughter Mary and her sister-in-law Sam. The very tranquil New Norcia is 132km north of Perth and founded in 1847 by a couple of Benedictine monks. It is Australia’s only monastic town and monks still live, work and pray there; as well as brewing a nice drop that goes by the name of Abbey Ale.

 

Tuesday saw me heading south courtesy of Bayswater Hire in my little Toyota Corolla. I discovered early on that there was an abundance of identical Bayswater Hire cars on the roads… and in winery car parks… most confusing. I quickly christened mine “one dessert to go 395” so I could remember the number plate 1DTG395. Arriving in Busselton I met up with my old friend, ex-Deni girl Sophie and followed her to the family farm near Nannup that she shares with her husband Matt and their children Alina and Xander and about 500 Angus cows.

 

Sophie had set aside Wednesday to act as a guide for me on an all-day tour of Margaret River wineries and food providores. Notably Voyager Estate, Leeuwin Estate, Cape Mentelle, Vasse Felix (our lunch stop… delicious albeit tiny amounts of food on very large white plates), Woody Nook, Margaret River Chocolate Factory and the Cambray Sheep Dairy.

 

By Thursday morning I was in need of serious exercise to compensate for the excesses of the previous day, so I walked the length of the Busselton Jetty and back again as a token gesture. Built in 1865 and measuring 1,841 metres it is the longest timber piled jetty in the southern hemisphere.

 

Leaving Busselton I drove out to visit and stay with more cousins; Barry, Jan and their daughter Emily, at their vineyard and olive farm at Margaret River. Later that afternoon we visited the Colonial Brewery to sample their five different types of beers. Colonial is an excellent microbrewery just down the road from the farm (I was starting to wonder why it had taken me till the age of forty one before getting to know this side of the family?).

 

Sampling wine made by Barry and Jan’s son Ryan and lunching at McHenry’s Farm Shop the next day, I was introduced to David Hohnen, one of the founders of the Margaret River wine region; he and his family established the Cape Mentelle winery and also Cloudy Bay winery in New Zealand. David took me to view his latest passion; free range Tamworth pigs, selling the end product through the farm shop and the Margaret River Farmer’s Market. Late that afternoon I joined Emily for a couple of hours riding through the state forest bordering their property; Jan lent me her beautifully mannered polocrosse mare Specs.

 

Saying goodbye to Barry, Jan & Emily I called into the Margaret River Farmer’s Market to take a few happy snaps to show our local Koondrook Barham Farmer’s Market aficionados Lauren and Katrina. Heading further south I discovered Cape Leeuwin, Australia’s most southwesterly point and where the Indian and Southern Oceans meet; then it was time to head east through the Karri forests to Albany. Stopping off along the way I climbed the Gloucester Tree, a huge Karri Eucalypt over 60m high (used as a fire lookout tree), explored the Valley of the Giants and completed the Tree Top Walk through the massive and very impressive Red Tingle trees near Walpole.

 

Waking up in Albany last Sunday morning I could feel every muscle in my body, the horse riding and tree climbing had caught up with me. Once again I had that run over by a Mack truck feeling, only this time it had reversed over me for good measure…

Hello Western Australia!

Greetings from Western Australia. The first day of my excellent adventure began with the four-hour flight from Melbourne to Perth aboard a Virgin Australia Boeing 737-800. The smiling check-in lady allocated me a seat with plenty of legroom just behind business class. I sat in between Stuart (an explosives expert from Melbourne) and Alex (a Macquarie Bank man from Perth). My grandfather’s sister’s grandson Warwick greeted me at the airport and gave me a ride into the city. For the next few nights I stayed with Warwick and his family Thelma, Emma and Will at their home in Dalkeith.

 

Focussing on my goal of visiting a brewery (purely for research purposes), I caught a train to Fremantle and arrived in time for lunch at the former boat shed and crocodile farm that is now home to Little Creatures Brewery.

 

Waitress Meeks showed me to a table handed me a menu and we discussed the merits of various beers. On Meeks’ recommendation, I settled on a small glass of their “Big Dipper” a hop-fuelled Double India Pale Ale. It went down very nicely in the Friday afternoon sunshine with a delicious bowl of garlic and white wine infused mussels. Remembering that culinary match made in heaven (beer & pizza), I went on to enjoy a small wood-fired pizza with a glass of Pale Ale (my favourite) and finished with a glass of Bright Ale (very nice but not as flavoursome as the Big Dipper or the Pale Ale).

 

By this stage I was starting to feel the effects of the three-hour time difference between Barham and Fremantle and seriously wanting a nap. Clearly it was time to set off for “Cappuccino Strip” the area in Freo known for its alfresco dining culture and Gino’s where I enjoyed an excellent latte.

 

That night I accompanied Warwick, Thelma and Will to the Cottesloe Hotel for dinner. The pub overlooks the famous Cottesloe Beach and the rather infamous shark-infested waters from Cottesloe Beach to Rottnest Island.

 

Early the next morning I was swimming (very close to shore) through those shark-infested waters with Thelma and Warwick. John Williams’ film score he composed for the 1977 film “Jaws”, played continuously in my head…

 

Warwick, a three-time world champion yachtsman, organised for me to sail with his crew (Biggles, Viv, Bruce and Greg) in the 2011 Governor’s Cup Yacht Race between Royal Perth Yacht Club and Royal Freshwater Bay Yacht Club on the Swan River. We were aboard their 26-foot yacht Wafwom (an acronym for: What a F****** Waste of Money). Warwick didn’t accompany us for the race as he was in serious training aboard a “flying fifteen” (a two person high performance racing yacht) for the Australian Championships in January 2012.

 

I know very little about sailing but managed to successfully fling myself repeatedly under the boom as we tacked our way around the course. With over 100 yachts there were some hairy moments as large numbers converged on marking buoys. Things threatened to go horribly and irretrievably wrong and I thought our skipper (Biggles) would lose a kidney as the bow of another yacht came dangerously close as we rounded a buoy. Another yacht nearby lost a man overboard; he was happily rescued. Dangling over the side of Wafwom, with the sails full, the water whipping past and the rain bucketing down, I felt like a true sailor.

 

By Saturday night I was having dinner in Inglewood with Megan (who is a friend of Ash’s friend Trevor who is a friend of my friend Woolly), her husband Greg and their friends. Exhaustion overtook me between the main course and chocolate pudding and I had to excuse myself for what I anticipated would be a ten-minute power nap. An hour and a half later Megan woke me to say I was most welcome to stay the night but perhaps Warwick and Thelma would be wondering what had become of me?

 

(The next morning I no longer felt like a true sailor… I felt like someone who’d been run over by a Mack truck).

An excellent adventure based on beer research

By the time many of you read this I will have set out on my excellent adventure to Western Australia. About two months ago I received a phone call from Janet (my former Mother-in-law), letting me know she and Denis were coming to visit for a couple of weeks of Grandparent-time in November and suggesting I take this time off to have a holiday. As other parents will know, opportunities like this don’t come around very often, if ever, so I took Janet’s suggestion and ran with it.

 

My mind was all turmoil, chaos and Libran dilemma; how to choose a destination? So many choices: Port Lincoln to dive with sharks; camping in the Flinders Ranges; New Zealand’s north island to see the cousins; New Zealand’s south island to walk the Milford Track; Tasmania’s Bay of Fires; exploring in the Kimberley region of Western Australia; a road trip to Byron Bay; the Amalfi Coast of Italy; the south of France to eat baguettes… (yes, I know I was getting carried away); horse riding through the Victorian high country, snorkelling in Palau…

 

My nearly final thought was Palau. A tiny speck of islands somewhere east of the Philippines and rumoured to be the world’s most beautiful diving location… not that I know anything about diving mind you, but I have snorkelled. I phoned my friend Rossco (a diving fanatic) to see if he wanted to join me on a two-week platonic holiday in Palau. Rossco thought this was a brilliant idea and the fact that we had yet to meet in person was a minor detail.

 

A couple of weeks later however, Rossco pointed out one major flaw in my plan… in the time since my initial suggestion of flying to Palau, I had started dating Ash (a clever and devastatingly handsome farmer) and perhaps Ash would think this was a less than brilliant idea? Good point, so I moved on to Plan B.

 

At a friend’s wedding earlier this year I acquired a taste for Little Creatures Pale Ale. By a fortunate stroke of serendipity I was enjoying a small bottle of this rather delicious beer while contemplating Plan B.

 

Looking down and admiring their label I noticed the Little Creatures Brewery was located at Fremantle in Western Australia, the only Australian State I had yet to visit. On this basis my holiday is now being formed around a brewery, which seems like as good a plan as any.

 

It got me thinking about the possibilities for “brewery tourism” and how this could be an excellent value adding idea for our district grain growers. Soon I had lapsed into global empire mode and started envisaging Club Barham building a small state of the art brewery at the picturesque Barham Lake Complex, using local grain, creating industry and a tourist attraction for our district as well as selling their (sure to be excellent) beer all around town. If someone would like to establish a cracker biscuit factory (utilising local wheat) it would compliment Jonesy’s Dairy’s planned gourmet cheeses and we could all enjoy local cheese, crackers and beer.

 

Meanwhile back to my excellent adventure: Besides visiting breweries I also plan to visit old friends I haven’t seen in years, friends of friends who I’m yet to meet and long lost relatives who are rumoured to be lovely. All in all I can’t wait.

 

Looking forward to typing my column to you from the other side (of the country)… cue spooky music.

Fish habitat and common sense

Fish habitat is out of control, what about our habitat? Thanks to the ongoing floods down the Murray River these past twelve months, large chunks of the riverbanks have been washed away and a great many of the River Red Gums lining the banks have toppled into the river. If Mother Nature were a person the greenies would have lynched her by now or at the very least brokered a deal with the government to have her shut down.

 

A barbie boat ride up the river on a balmy spring evening several weeks ago highlighted just how many trees had fallen in over a relatively short stretch of water. Our little cruise also revealed how implausible waterskiing would be (for the mentally sound), along that particular part of the river this coming summer.

 

Back in the good old days (read: 1855), the three colonial governments of New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia were paying snagging contractors to de-snag the river and keep it a navigable waterway. Snags were hauled out of the river by bullock teams or in inaccessible areas the snags were towed away using boats. In 1857 Francis Cadell built and operated the first custom made snag boat (the Grapler), which was fitted with a crane and could lift 14 to 15 tons.

 

By all accounts there was no shortage of Murray Cod caught in the late 1800s and first half of the 1900s, which makes me conclude that perhaps de-snagging alone didn’t have too much of an effect on the cod numbers? This of course was before weirs and water regulation radically altered the river flow and some bright spark was yet to release the “Boolarra” strain of Cyprinus carpio (common carp), into the waterways.

 

Fast-forward to our present day where the NSW Office of Environment & Heritage prosecutes anyone found guilty of removing snags from the river. It is their view that fallen trees and branches provide crucial breeding habitat for the Murray Cod. Having done some (relatively shallow) research into the subject myself, I tend to agree….. to a point.

 

Surely it is possible for a compromise to be reached that would be beneficial for the river, the native fish and the people? Australia’s Murray River is still supposed to be a navigable river. The rate at which trees are tumbling into it will cause the Murray to be choked with snags and debris sooner rather than later. Would it not be possible to have both areas at intervals along the banks for fish habitat as well as keeping the middle of the river clear and navigable for boating and recreational activities?

Pavlovas and Wilma

Community spirit is the trump card for living in the country and the reason I love living where I do. There’s nothing quite like the annual district agricultural show to demonstrate that sense of community we can all enjoy. Thanks to the dedicated and hard working team of volunteers, we got to enjoy an excellent outing to the Barham Show last weekend. Beginning with the very social Friday night opening and spectacular fireworks display that no doubt had half the town’s dog population heading for the bush.

Each year I have grand plans to flood the pavilion with entries but sadly my organizational skills are usually in disarray. Suddenly the deadline is upon me before I’ve cracked one egg or looked in the veggie garden for suitably impressive beetroot and my prize-winning photographs are still stored on my computer. 

This year was no exception. 

Luckily I work best under pressure. Actually to be truthful, I only work under pressure. However, I was determined to honour my vow of entering a pavlova in memory of my friend Wilma.

It was thanks to the pavlova section at the Barham Show that I met Wilma Bott. 

2009 was our first year as Barham residents and I was keen to support the local show by entering a few of the categories. Reading through the show booklet I circled a few sections that I felt the boys and I could enter (garden produce, eggs, cookery and my favourite: “the longest gum leaf”).

My mother Caroline is an excellent cook, with her signature dish being the pavlova. Every Sunday afternoon of my childhood we would sit down around the kitchen table to a huge roast lamb dinner (read: 2 yr old merino wether …..much tastier) with all the trimmings; gravy, mint sauce, roast pumpkin, roast kumara (Mother hails from the Land of the Long White Cloud) and roast potato, tomato and onion pie and peas flavoured with handfuls of mint leaves from the garden. This feast culminated in a magnificent marshmallow centred pavlova topped with freshly whipped cream, bananas and passionfruit for pudding. 

Sunday mornings were synonymous with the deafening roar of Mother’s 1966 Kenwood Chef mixer as it whipped up the egg whites, sugar, salt, vanilla essence, cold water, vinegar and cornflour.

Having witnessed this ritual for years I was confident I could recreate one of Mother’s masterpieces for the Barham Show. However I had no idea how the pavlova was to be presented. 

I consulted with friends (who also had no idea) and the general consensus was that I must phone Wilma Bott; the original domestic goddess of Barham and winner of numerous pavlova competitions. 

Wilma happily shared her knowledge. She went on to come second in the pavlova section that year and I came in fourth. We met less than a week later in person, where Wilma introduced me to the delights of her yo-yo biscuits and chocolate eclairs and I introduced her to the benefits of massage therapy.

Last Thursday at 5pm was the deadline to enter the pavlova section; I started cracking eggs at 2pm and had a client booked in for a massage at 4pm.

Cracking eggs when you are feeling “under the pump” is not recommended. Fourteen eggs later I had finally managed to correctly separate the eight eggs necessary for my mega pav recipe (I was beginning to wish I was entering a frittata instead of a pavlova). I raced the still warm pavlova to the showground with minutes to spare.

Days later and I am still basking in the glory of winning the coveted 1^st prize, although I suspect it may only be due to divine intervention ….thanks Wilma.

Retail espionage and the Red Carpet Evening

A couple of months ago I found myself inadvertently attending a linen party. You see I had headed out one evening in the mistaken belief that I was attending book club, when “Surprise! We’re having a linen party!” I hate shopping at the best of times, it is an activity I will avoid if I possibly can, so I was initially somewhat less than impressed by this retail espionage.

 

Party plan shopping is an anxiety-ridden experience for me, as I feel almost guilty if I don’t purchase something at an exorbitant price that I will never use again. However, on this particular night my resolve was firm; I had come for book club, not to shop. Luckily this resolve didn’t stop me from encouraging my fellow book clubbers to purchase linen and enjoying an excellently funny evening. On the contrary, I became wildly enthusiastic when we spied an over the top, Vogue Living-style pillowslip. It was made of satin silky stuff with (I kid you not), ruffles down the centre. God only knows how a linen designer’s mind works; it looked totally impractical to me.

 

As I thoughtfully sipped on a glass of champagne I remembered other champagne sipping experiences, namely the major fundraiser for the Barham & District Medical Centre; the annual Red Carpet Evening. Fashionista I am not, but I do love an excuse to frock-up for a night out, especially when it is for a noble cause that includes great company, dancing, yummy snackie food and adult drinks. The Red Carpet Evening is a win-win situation: you are supporting your local medical centre, you have a great night out, ladies get to frock-up and all men look smoking hot in black tie.

 

Meanwhile back at our linen party book club meeting and the impractical pillowslip…. It would make the most fabulous formal frock if you were stylish, slim and petite. Sadly I am not, although fellow book club member Robbie May most certainly is. With a little encouragement from her book club buddies, Robbie twirled around the room modelling the pillowslip “frock”. A glass of champagne later and Robbie was purchasing two pillowslips and vowing to take them holidaying in Bangkok and have them made into a formal outfit that would be revealed at the Red Carpet Evening.

 

With this year’s Red Carpet Evening almost upon us (next Saturday night 22nd October at the Barham Golf & Country Club), I am tingling with anticipation at the thought of seeing the pillowslips transformed into formal attire and our local celebrities-for-an-evening strutting their stuff on the dance floor. Drop into Debbie Bott’s B&D Gifts in Mellool Street to pre-purchase your Red Carpet Evening tickets and support this worthwhile event – I shall look forward to seeing you there.

Seasonal jet-lag

Once again I have been afflicted with seasonal jet-lag courtesy of daylight savings; an initially frustrating annual event for those of us that don’t like our routines altered. Daylight Savings, people either love it or hate it ….or if you are similar to me, you hate it then you love it then you hate it again.

 

I have reached the conclusion that the people most affected by the commencement of daylight savings are “morning people”, of which I am one. Morning people like getting up early and we look forward to the lengthening days of summer when the sun gets up earlier. Daylight savings (to put it bluntly), stuffs this natural cycle. When we put our clocks forward by sixty minutes on the first Sunday in October, we are effectively putting our morning light back to the beginning of August.

 

Luckily for me, I am also a “night person” and can happily stay up to all hours of the night, so I am quite partial to the extra daylight hours at the end of the day ….especially if I want to head out for an evening kayak after dinner or kick back on the riverbank with friends after work. Sadly I am not a “middle of the day” person and would really rather be having a nap like all those enlightened Spaniards; the siesta is a concept of pure genius.

 

Australia first observed daylight savings in 1917, during the First World War as an energy saving initiative. During World War II, once again all Australian states and territories observed daylight savings. Then in 1968 the Tasmanians decided it would be a great idea to have daylight savings every summer and after a couple of years the rest of the country thought so too …..except Queenslanders and now West Australians (who are a law unto themselves).

 

Coming from a strong rural background I am almost genetically programmed to oppose the commencement of daylight savings. Fortunately for me I seem to be becoming more adaptable with each passing year and with less than a week of summer time under my belt, much to my surprise I already love it. I shall raise a glass to George Vernon Hudson, the shift working, bug collecting, postal employee from New Zealand who first proposed the idea of daylight savings in 1895 (summer evenings are an excellent time to collect bugs if you are an entomologist).

 

I would write more but now I have to take advantage of the extended daylight hours and go barbie boating down the Murray River on this glorious spring evening.

Running away from home

A few weeks ago I ran away from home. It was about ten to five in the afternoon and I had to do a couple of jobs down the street anyway.

 

Max and Sam had been having a fight involving the biffing of various objects at one another as siblings do. Predictably it ended in tears with both brothers denying any wrongdoing. Clearly in my mind one of my sons wasn’t telling the truth. This reluctance to accept responsibility managed to transform me in the briefest of nanoseconds from “Happy Mother of the Year” to one very angry and frustrated parent; picture the female equivalent of Lord Voldemort (the most powerful dark wizard of all time in the Harry Potter series). I informed them they were both grounded until further notice and only just managed to stop myself from saying till they were eighteen.

 

Declining Henry’s offer to come with me, I grabbed my keys, glared at my children and quoting Captain Lawrence Oates of Antarctic exploration fame, said “I am just going outside and may be some time”. Unlike Captain Oates I didn’t leave my tent and head into a blizzard and certain death. I headed down the street in my trusty Nissan Wagon for a bit of “me time”. Had I been a bloke this “me time” would possibly have turned into a trip to the pub and the companionship of my mates, it was nearly 5pm after all. Sadly I conceded the pub may not be the best choice for a single mother having a meltdown, so I went off in search of friends instead.

 

Finding my friend Ilka down the street, she empathised with me about the frustration of being a parent and the naughtiness of offspring, however she was on her way home to cook dinner. Drats!

 

Completing my down-the-street jobs of dropping off paperwork with the accountant and purchasing a smoke alarm I decided I was not yet in a happy enough frame of mind to resume my parental responsibilities. So I called around to my friend Joy’s childfree home. She put the kettle on but then reconsidered and opened a bottle of 2007 Restdown Shiraz instead.

 

There’s nothing like talking things through with a friend to help you get some perspective. Together we made a list of all the things that were worrying me and agreed it was a minor miracle I wasn’t in a foetal position on the floor crying and that really, being grumpy with my children and walking away for an hour or so wasn’t all that bad. We also made a list of all the good things going on in my life and in true Libran style I managed to make the lists balance. On some occasions my fuse is far too short to count to ten.

 

Sometimes walking away from a situation is the best way to calm down and recharge your batteries.

What it's like to skydive

Terminal velocity are two words that really shouldn’t be in the same sentence….. not when you’re about to go skydiving. (Apparently a skydiver in a belly to earth free-fall position reaches a speed of about 195 km/h before the chute opens). Last Saturday the Elders weather site was predicting a near perfect forecast for Nagambie and I was booked to jump out of a plane at 14,000 feet.

My ground support crew comprised Max, Sam and Henry, co-driver “GPS” Jane and Squadron Leader Edgar Pickles DFC & Bar, by 8.30am we were on the road to an excellent adventure. The plan was to enjoy a sumptuous lunch at Plunkett Fowles Winery at midday followed by skydiving at 2pm. However we arrived about an hour ahead of schedule, so at the urging of my youngest son we popped out to Skydive Nagambie via the historic Kirwans Bridge to see if it would be possible to jump before lunch (Henry was concerned that lunch might make me too heavy for the parachute ….he knows what my appetite is like).

Stepping out at the drop zone you could almost smell the adrenalin. There were skydivers everywhere and I thought I would have Buckley’s chance of jumping early. I introduced myself to Louise (Accelarated Free Fall Instructor, Drop Zone Safety Officer and Drop Zone Operator), she smiled and said “No problem, you’ll be in the next load; it leaves in 15 minutes”. I was quickly introduced to my new best friend, Tandem Master Ryan who fitted a harness to me and then went over the sequence of moves we would perform once we exited the plane. Then it was big hugs with the boys and the rest of my support crew before climbing aboard the PAC 750XL turboprop and beginning our ascent to 14,000 feet.

Finally we reached the required height, the door opened and the solo jumpers exited. Suddenly it was our turn.

Cameraman Jono stepped outside and gave me the thumbs up, Ryan sat on the door ledge and I hung out into the abyss, feeling reasonably secure in the harness. Ryan tipped forwards and we were out. 

The noise of the wind was incredible as we headed south; Jono seemed to be buzzing around us like a demented blowfly with a camera and I hoped my top was modestly in place. We did a few 360 degree spins and the ground still seemed a long way away. After about a minute of free-falling (the longest 60 seconds in history), Ryan pulled the ripcord; it felt as though we were being sucked back up as the canopy opened and rapidly slowed our descent. The noise ceased and we floated down at a leisurely pace, enjoying the incredible view of the countryside and the glorious spring sunshine.

Ryan steered us safely in for landing, which was less scary than I had been anticipating. Earlier that morning I had read a quote by Captain Charles W. Purcell “Out of 10,000 feet of fall, always remember that the last half inch hurts the most”. At that point I decided to stop all research into skydiving until after I had completed my jump. My friend Rossco, an aeronautical engineer and ex-paratrooper had told me their motto was “Knowledge Dispels Fear” I had replied that I preferred my own motto of “Ignorance is Bliss” when it came to jumping out of a plane.

Back on the ground and very happily reunited with Max, Sam, Henry, Jane and Edgar, we headed off for our very delicious lunch. All in all an amazing life experience that I wouldn’t mind repeating.