Letters To Harry

24 Months Today

Dear Harry,

Yes indeed, Alex and I have managed to keep our wonderful, beautiful and high impact human child ticking like a tiny time-bomb for a full 24 months - hurrah for us.

As I type these words, Flickr is flooding with images from this morning present fest, adding to the dizzying number of pictures from Lucy's birthday party on Saturday.

In true toddler style Lucy was utterly disinterested in the scooter that Alex almost killed herself procuring on Monday, instead lavishing all her energies on a small pink handbag that was bought as a sundry as Alex exiting the shop from which the other presents were purchased. 

The direct transformation of our lives over the last 24 months has been hard to grasp at times but the effects have been profound.

Very few of us wake one morning and suddenly feel old, but when you have a child dashing around and you can see the direct effect the last two years have has on her, how much she's changed, learnt and grown then there is suddenly a yard-stick of your own making to measure everyone's ageing against.

It's not just the way you feel either, it's the way you act. Changes in behaviour brought on by simply be a parent. For example we were at a friends wedding a few weeks ago in the Southern Highlands and I was driving us down. At some point Lucy took umbrage to being strapped in the car seat and began howling where upon Alex told her to quieten down as it was 'distracting daddy when he's driving'. Instead of Alex, I heard my mothers voice and instinctively looked around for my father, only to realise that I was A) Daddy & B) Driving and in an instant suddenly understood my parents a little better.

No one is born a parent and there's no magic class on coping with raising small children, we are people one day and parents the next. Age and experience prior to parenthood certainly can colour how well you cope with the first few year's, but truthfully parenthood is an mystery tour, filled with wrong turns and a few dead-ends, made all the more exciting by letting your children handle the map reading!

Regards,

Charlie 

 

 

 

Octogenarian

Dear Harry,

A big hip-hip-horray as my father turns 80 today.

Strange though it may seem I've been scouring all the images I've taken of him over the years on flickr and one of the most recent ones (taken in Cornwall earlier this year when we were in the UK for my sisters wedding) is the one that leaps out at me as our hero shot de jour.

It might be the fact it was shot on 35mm black and white film, or the fact that it's a passable image of my father or simply that I can find it will ease, but over the years my father has always proven a tricky subject to photograph.

I'll admit there have been numerous instances in the past when younger and more foolish, the timing and style of my photographic approach towards me father have been poorly planned.

For example, the shot above on his wedding day in 2007 ran a little along the lines of, "Hold this", "What is it?" Pop! Which might explains the look on his face.

He still speaks with relish about the time I photographed him driving, which resulted in him nearly going off the road and me being told to put the camera somewhere the chaps at canon have never intended it to go.

You can see a selection of the flickr pictures here

I'll leave you with one of my favourite when dad refused to be photographed and I wasn't leaving without a snapshot - so we reached a compromise that he would hide behind the sweet board at the local pub, resulting in this strange affair.

Anyway, happy birthday dad, a wiser and more wonderful father no man could ask for (despite being a pain to shoot :)

Charlie

 

Number 2 on the way

Dear Harry,

Well with Lucy ticking over nicely and life returning to some vague semblance of normality we felt it time to mix things up a bit in the Brewer household and get going with number 2.

Yes, yes it looks like the space prawn swimming an ethereal mass of Ansel Adams zonal tones, but I can assure you that this, at some point in February 2012, will emerge as a fully formed brother or sister to Lucy.

We have just passed the 14 week mark at the moment and besides a general feeling of sickness, weakness and being very much 'over it', all is progressing to plan.

So that is our news for the moment.

Regards,

Charlie

(P.S. it sees that the Hackey contingent of the London riots were pretty close to my flat in Clapton passage as you can see on this hastily constructed Goggle Map)

 

36th Degree

Dear Harry

**************** STOP PRESS **************

Take a mild moment of madness, a lot of love from family and friends and a few amazing presents (including a Stilletto hammer).

Now add a bottle of white wine I really should have shared (but lacked a mouth to find as the final dram trickled out of the bottom) and Boom ....

I'm 36

Regards,

Charlie

***************** STOPPED PRESS ****************

 

Harry's 6th Birthday

Dear Harry,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Hapy birthday dear Harry,

Happy birthday to you.

Time really does fly. We faffed and fannied a bit this year with your birday present and we realy hope it got to you in time. Rather than Nerf or other toys, I though that it was time that you got your teeth into something a little more littary.

I remember when I was growing up having something very simalar to this and spending hours pouring over the glossy images and detailed definitions. Of course in my day the internet was but a dream, as was the likleyhood of America having a black president ... great to see how far we have come in the last 30 years.

Anyway hope you like it and hope you have  a fantastic 6th birthday with loads of love and hugs from far far away.

Charlie, Alex and Lucy

Suited & Shooted

Dear Harry,

Been an age as always but thought I'd refresh you memory as to what your erstwhile Godfather looks like with a picture of him wearing a suit while holding a screaming infant in his arms.

The suit was on it's way to a charity shop, the screaming child on the way to growing a lot more teeth hence being a little teasy.

Hope all is well in Blighty and now that we have our new household Mac up and running and I'm no longer threatened with my letters being swept into the ether by a faulty capacitor shorting out, I'll hopefully get back into the habit of more regular correspondence.

Love and hugs,

Charles

P.S. as with any dress-up camera session in our householf there are a few more shots of your's truely looking dashing in his finest theads which you can see on Flickr here

Logo's & Letters

Dear Harry,

Gone are the days of the painstaking wait to see if you are the sort of person that a nation needs to take move forward. Less than a week after taking my Australian Citizenship exam I received the following letter from the Federal Immigration Minister Chris Bowen offering me a place in the Green and Gold team.

Of course I still have to attend a ceremony where I take the pledge, sing the national anthem and get my little tree but I've got to say I'm pretty stoked.

A few days after the letter arrived Alex, Lucy and I celebrated Australia Day by heading down to the Royal National Park to go for a dip in the water and generally soak up the atmosphere.

The thing about Australian Day that I really noticed this year was that we were surrounded by groups of Australians who, like us, had come to the country from overseas and made this place their home. Families originating from the middle east, rubbing shoulder with groups from Korea, China and India, all celebrating the national day of a country they had moved to and a culture they had chosen to join.

Movements and politics aside, I think it's important to remember when nationalists bang on about who does and doesn't deserve to belong in a country that it very often the people who are regarded as being the least desirable by the right wing elements of a society are the ones who are trying the hardest to assimilate.

Being born a citizen is any nation is a quirk of fate, but uprooting your life and choosing a new country, with all the linguistuc and legal challenges that brings, shows a degree of commitment that a lot of people would find hard to comprehend.

Returning from the Park we popped into the local shopping mall to grab a few O n' S (odds & sods) and while dithering over this and that I spotted that Cotton On has started flogging retro super hero outfits. Somehow Superman blended with the Aussie flag seemed to be fitting memento for Lucy's first real Australia day.

Regards,

Charlie

Testing Times

Dear Harry,

No matter how old you get there's always a test to be taken.

Since the moving to Australia there seems to have been more than a few moments where I've been confronted with a computer screen, a lone question (generally poorly worded) and a dizzying selection of possible answers.

What got me talking about this, is that today Alex and I sat our Australians Citizenship Exams.

It's bizarre to think that correctly answering 20 reasonably simple questions can make the difference to becoming an Australian Citizen or not. Granted, in the grand scheme of the immigration process, the citizenship phase is extremely straight forward as compared to getting Permanent Residency, but never the less a test on flags, history and basic democratic structure seems an unusual manner in which to judge the worthiness of a person to becomes passport carrying member of a society.

I've included a link below to the test section creation by the department of immigration so you can get an impression of what we had to answer.

• Try out one of the four practice tests by clicking the this link

With this now complete all we have to do is wait for our applications to be processed and if we are successful, attend a citizenship ceremony, where we recite an oath, sing the national anthem and get given a tree in celebration of our new status as Australians.

Anyway I'll keep you all posted and let you know how we get on.

Regards,

Charlie

(P.S. The advice I was given when aged about 10 still holds true for every exam I've ever taken - read the question, re-read the question and then read the question again. Ninety nine percent of incorrect answers come from mis-reading the wording of the question asked and answering what you though was the question.

Other variations on this also include reading both sides of the exam paper, answering the correct number of questions and, my favourite, as is shown by Rowan Atkinson below - always you check to make sure you have removed all the sheets of paper from the exam envelope!)

Allergies, angst and A&E

Dear Harry,

2011 started with the excitement of taking Lucy down to the local A&E department. She went from having a sky-rocketing temperature of 40 degrees plus to a reading more akin to a polar bear going for an arctic bath, all in the space of 24 hours. Add to this that the course of penicillin she was on for a suspected bout of tonsillitis was making her tummy churn like a washing machine filled with gassy eggs and the end result was a case of the screamies the likes of which we hadn't heard since she was only a month old.

As will all issues relating to pediatric medicine, the majority of the time at the hospital was spent watching and waiting and generally taking up space while the staff performed the usual barrage of tests to determine if anything was wrong.

Highlights of our stay included Alex and I waiting, rubber gloved, with a specimen jar to collect a sample of urine from a somewhat disinterested and dehydrated Lucy followed and having to endure her deafening screams as the doctors tried in vain to fine a vein in her cuddly little arms.

But all's well that ends well. After about 24 hours it was decided that she most likely had an infection, was given a dose of antibiotics and we were allowed to take ger home.

As has become customary with the moments of high drama the second she was still for more than blink of the eye and I wasn't in the process of having one or other interesting bodily fluid being sprayed in my general direction I had the camera in hand, documenting my child's abject boredom and misery, as any good parent should do. The results can be seen here

Lucy gets Ill

Onwards and upwards into the year proper.

Regards,

Charlie

 

Ones and Zeros

Dear Harry,

Nothing from you Godfather for months and then by time he does get to the terminal the Mac is on the fritz and keeps shutting down on ... which can be annoying (if not a tell tale sign it may after 6 years with a G5 be time to get a new Mac).

Lightening fast then.

HAPPY NEW YEAR ONE AND ALL

(nothing conveys a sense of shouting quite block caps)

There is much to tell and even more to show but I'm against it and as to prevent my work from falling into the wrong hands I'll sign off now.

Until next time,

With much love and hugs and ticking over of clocks to the start od 2011,

Charlie

Greatest show on Earth

Dear Harry,

Yesterday was the 5th anniversary of Letters To Harry.

2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009

That means I've been writing to you, on and off, for long enough for you to learn to actually start to read my words, which is no mean feat.

So today in celebration of the written word I though I'd share some pictures that I took a while ago but only just published.

The pictures tell the story of three days I spend with the traditional circus (pedants will be keen to read what makes a circus traditional is that it still includes performing animals) at the start of July.

The photos and interviews looked at the lives of those performers who still chose to live on the open road travelling from town-to-town, entertaining the crowds and thrilling audiences in the same way their families have done for generation before hand.

So drum roll please as I invite you to the greatest show on earth

Anyway I hope you enjoy the pictures as much as I enjoyed taking them and I'll catch up soon with all the real news.

(P.S. for the adults out there here's a link to a wonderful piss take version of our work site ... www.fakenews.com.au)

A sudden stop.

Dear Harry,

I wanted to write to you about a thousand things, our recent trip to the UK for example, our chance to see what a wonderful little boy you're swiftly growing into, but instead something else has come along and knocked me for six.

Forty eight hours ago I received word that a friend in the UK was seriously ill. She and I shared a flat together in Hackney when I was living in London in 1995 and remained friends ever since.

We met through a friend of a friend and despite being from very different backgrounds we got on at once. She was one of those people who somehow seems larger than life, with an infectious personality that combined humour, wisdom and a cutting whit into a single package crowned with a northern twang that would become broader with the more gin she drank.

After I left to London to head to university she stayed on in our old flat and took up a job in the West End theatre - ultimately seeing out a decade working as a chippy and LX on the same show. While working there she introduced me to the expression the twirlies, used as a collective pronoun for her theatres chorus line.

Whenever I was back in the city we used to catch-up for drinks, with me waiting out back of the stage door for her and her mates to pile out and rush to the Nell-Gwynne to get a few drinks in before last orders.

She was one of the very few women that men seemed genuinely scared of. When she was mugged in Hackney about 12 months after I moved out, the mugger apologised to her as he bundled he into her car and snatched her bag. It was just as well he ran though as she was carrying a monkey wrench on about 6 feet of chain in her back pocket at the time. There was another memorable instance when her, then boyfriend, decided to break-up with her and was so scared of the fall-out that he relocated to work on a refuelling station in the Amazon.

With her working hours and my working hours we saw less and less of each other over time until it was once a year and I headed overseas back in 2005. But regardless of frequency she was always someone I though of as being as much a part of my family as well as a friend. Indeed when I told my father how ill she was he was devastated, and dad has only ever been able to remember half a dozen of my closest friends.

The last time I saw her was on my wedding day. She looked wonderful in hat large enough to shelter from the monsoon rains under and, like all my friends at my wedding, I wish I had had more chance to catch-up with her, but it wasn't to be.

When we were back in the UK a couple of months ago we rushed around like mad things and you know what, I can't even remember if I send her a hurried Facebook invite to the picnic we planned in London. All I now know is that would have been my last chance to see her.

At about 8:00pm GMT yesterday she died in hospital; it's impossible to put into words you how sad I am that she is gone.

Charles

In Sickness & In Health

Dear Harry,

Last week Alex and I had our first real brush with childhood illness when Lucy was admitted to the local children's hospital for 48 hours for observation and a course of intravenous antibiotics.

After a cough, cold and a collection of other viral nasties (that children seem destined to collect and pass round at day care) Lucy suddenly developed a scorching case of conjunctivitis. Twenty-four hours later this was joined by a sudden flushing of her cheeks and our doctor suspected that Lucy was warming up for something called Periorbital cellulitis, which if left untreated can easily morph into nasty bigger brother Orbital cellulitis.

So off we all trotted to meet the team at Sydney Children's hospital, who after some 'umming' and 'arhrrring', determined that the best course of action was to keep Lucy in for observation.

Luckily the drugs seemed to do the trick and after a few fraught and pretty sleepless nights we were all home again.

Next step is to get everyone rounded up for great the trip back to the UK.

See you all soon,

Charlie

We are the man, they are the Ibex

Dear Harry,

We don't know why, we don't really want to know why, but for some reason I relate to this man.

Exactly why he's talking in such an animated fashion at such the irate ibex isn't important - the key thing to remember is that we are he and it is the Ibex.

What you ask, am I on about?

Well, as my friend Chloe points out, this simple YouTube clip is a metaphor for every time you are faced with the bleating, spitting, unreasonable goat-boy of bureaucracy, mal-formed functionality or downright pig-headed stupidity in the 21st century.

The ticket machine that chews out your bus pass, the vending-bot that spurts magma-hot latte down the crotch of your interview trousers, the call centre drone who's response to every question is .".. have you tried power-cycling the equipment" (I prey the ghost of Dante is preparing a special place for their sort) they are the ibex.

Which make us the fool being spat on ... which in its self is worth more than a passing thought.

Regards,

Charlie

Getting On A Bit

Dear Harry,

It seems when you get to my age even the simple task of writing 3 lines of text to thank everyone who wished me a happy birthday for Thursday has some how taken me three days to complete.

Naturally my biggest thanks goes to Alex, for her amazing present (more on that later), the surprise picnic by the sea and an afternoon's Ice Skating. She rounded that day off with a trip to the movies to see a silly file (Get Him To The Greek) with by a Martini and a belly-full of delicious sushi beforehand.

Yep, when you get to 35 - things just don't get any better than that.

That said, I did buy a Dremel this afternoon as a reward for being good .... which I will be, promise.

Regards,

Charlie

(P.S. the picture gracing the top of the letter is a shot Alex took of Lucy and I last weekend when we are doing some portraits in the garden)

Harry Green - 005

Dear Harry,

Right, pay attention young man, this is important, by time you receive this birthday letter you should also have received the following:

Which when assembled willl make you one of these

And which after your parents break out their paints will, can & bloody well ought to look like this

At which point it is your job to live the dream of evey 5 year-old on their birthday and consume as much sugar as you can and re-enact Son Of Rambo by scattering small sucker tipped Nerf darts all over your house.

Happy Birthday Hunting

Regards,

Charlie

Sing'ing in the wrong key

Dear Harry,

So where I work, we like to hear our readers thoughts(s).

Nothing wrong with that. All part of the social media landscape.

But every now and again our readers get so het-up they loose focus on the point they are making. For example, a story today about a mini-series who have opted to cast a white actor to portray the role of a famous Chinese-Australian sniper who became a hero of the ANZAC forces in WW1.

Which prompted the following comment,

"Absolutely Disgusted bye this. Its wrong on so many level's its like doing a movie about nelson Mandela and casting a black person to play his part in the movie".

Well yes indeed!

Good Bye,

Charlie

The Rain In Spain

Dear Harry,

I've been in Spain,

at a wedding - where I took pictures - which you can see here on Flickr

And yes, it complicated

Regards,

Charlie

In the Booth

Dear Harry,

I like clips set in recording booths.

Might be the time I spent at school mucking around with recording gear, might be a weird fascination that a number of us developed for the Jerry Seinfeld Comedian trailer while I worked at the Times Online, but shove a man in an sound booth and film him doing his thing and I'm all there.

So today I thought I'd share a couple of the finest examples of this extremely niche genre that our friends at You tube have to offer.

The Comedian

Darth Vader does Tom Tom

Regards,

Charlie

Blog-jack

Dear Harry,

This is Alex hijacking Charlie's blog. I wanted to tell you something about your godfather, something that happened on a recent trip to Canberra.

Ordinarily Canberra is not somewhere I would choose to go, as it's basically a large university campus, except everyone's in a suit. However, my parents were staying and we decided to take a trip to see the big exhibition of post-impressionist art currently on loan from the Musee D'Orsay in Paris, to the Australia National Museum. 

We stayed in a gorgeous vineyard just outside the ACT and made a weekend of it. This was quite a challenge with Lucy with us, as she was only 2 months old and we hadn't yet made a trip longer than about 30 minutes in the car. However, she was an angel and slept beautifully. We returned the favour by stopping frequently to feed her and change her nappy.

The weekend was a success, the accommodation was clean, comfortable and spacious; the exhibition was packed but worth the wait, and we even found time to take a look around Parliament House before heading back.

On the return journey we stopped at a fuel station to get some food and to change Lucy's nappy. Charlie had Lucy and asked the teller where he could find the baby changing room.

A little aside here: this is 2010. Most establishments have now realised that parents often take joint care of their children. There's no biological reason why a woman has to change a nappy. In fact, when she has to do all the feeding and often a good deal of the caring too, it's quite refreshing if the guy takes a turn - which Charlie was kindly doing.  However, occassionally, you still find the nappy changing facilities in the ladies toilet, rendering dads with potential problems.

This was one of those venues.

Rather than take umbridge with the teller, or huff outside and find somewhere else, rather more public to change our little girl, Charlie simply annouced: "Right-oh, then. If you hear screaming, it's because I'm in the ladies loo," and walked straight in there, leaving the teller open-mouthed and a bit bewildered.

And this, knuckle-down-and-get-on-with-it, don't-let-the-idiots-get-in-your-way attitude is why I married him.

Regards,

Alex