Adam and Eve’s Lamb, Pork or Goat with Coriander

And it came to pass that Adam and Eve sat on a goatskin, huddled naked in a cave. They shuddered from the sounds of the Lord God Jehovah’s wrath as it rained into the valley splitting trees and hurtling boulders. Adam could smell Eve’s hair, her skin, her quick frightened breath, feel her tremors.

They did not comprehend Jehovah’s words nor the reason for His anger. They were dismayed but aware that it had been caused by their new feelings for each other as they had become one within the beauty of their garden, its glorious warmth and succour.

They had not eaten an apple from the Tree of Knowledge. But they had made love. They were young in fact they were all the company they had, apart from The Lord who was away mostly. There was no serpent. The serpent was a metaphor. The author of Genesis knew that the words would be read to the children of Israel.

They had made love for a whole week, following some exploratory fumbles, while The Lord was away. He hadn’t told them they could not, well not exactly. He did say that they shouldn’t do anything He wouldn’t do. God was holy. No doubt about it. He wore an air of kindly benevolence. Until He found out. Then He went ballistic.

They had fallen asleep in Eden. The grass was soft, the sunlight filtered tin golden light hrough the leaves of fig and the aromatic Hasmesh, the doves softly cooed, white goats bleated, and to be frank they were exhausted, but blissfully happy. Then God lobbed in. They had been naked before but now they were entwined and naked, and they became ashamed in His gaze and tried to cover up with a fig leaf. It was mostly ineffective.

God let out a roar that froze waterfalls, stuck birds to the sky and cleaved a valley. Adam blamed it on Eve and said that he had been tempted. He immediately regretted saying it but it was done. God replied that he would put enmity between them, and between Adam’s offspring and hers. This was a bit puzzling but Adam let it go.

God spoke to Eve and said that he would greatly increase her pains in childbirth. As she had never had children this was another mystery. He also said that her desire would be for her husband and that he would rule over her. God did not foresee womens’ liberation, but hey, that was millenniums later.


[This Italian painting by Domenichino depicts Adam shrugging his shoulders and saying “She woulda tempted a blind man, eh she woulda tempted even you - nothing on you Lord….” And The Lord gives Adam the finger.]

The later biblical scholars, particularly those inclined to the theory of Intelligent Design date the ‘Fall of Mankind’ at about 6000BC. The oldest human skeleton is dated at about 4 million. Such discrepancy is dispelled by Faith. Faith is the essence of True Belief. Each religion has its own version of Faith. Faith is a gift from God. There are more gods than you can poke a stick at.


In his divine rage Jehovah ranted that the ground was now cursed, that Adam would painfully toil his days on earth, that weeds would spring up, thorns and thistles, but he would live off the land until he dropped dead and disintegrated to dust. Verily this was a setback.


In His divine anger He expelled them from the Garden of Eden and placed cherubim and a flaming sword, flashing back and forth, as a deterrent. His words fell like hot cinders on their backs as they stumbled into the valley of darkness. After some time, yea they found a goat trail leading to a cave, where we found them earlier.


It was stony damp, dark and cold with a whiff of urine and sulphur, when lo and behold a blue fire formed around a rock and a slim figure appeared before them. “Please allow me to introduce myself. Maximilian Price. Friends call me Max, or Pricey. I imagine you’re both a little upset and a trifle peeved? If it’s any consolation He can be a touch tetchy at times.”


Max Price carried a suave jaunty air. He was an indeterminate age, strangely neither old nor young in our terms, although Adam and Eve didn’t try to guess his age, after all they had just started humanity in Israel or Mesopotamia three weeks back, and had no idea of age; God just looked different…..


Pricey wore a suit of the finest cloth. I say this for your benefit reader, Adam and Eve had no concept of apparel, other than the goat skin God had thrown at them when they parted, which they now sat on. God Himself was sort of luminous.


“This is indeed a pleasure which, incidentally, I have been anticipating for some millenniums past. You must be Adam? Eve? Do call me Max. Max. Yes. Well….. you know… you can do all you can to please and believe me I have been there, where you are, perplexed by such prima donna behaviour which would indeed try a saint…. Ha ha, I mean really what did He expect? He gives you the dangly bits and expects angels? Well there’s the flaw in the design hey? Dangly bits have their own mind ha ha, it is an unrealistic expectation. You guys as the prototype are up the creek without the proverbial if you get my drift hmmm??”


Adam drew Eve closer.


“Look, I’ll give it to you straight. The Lord says I’m not to be trusted – if He’s likely to impart any advice that is…once he’s over His huff, heh heh…. He will tell you that I’m a black angel who was once his favourite but got ambitious for the top job, well hey what’s wrong with a little ambition? You can’t stay second fiddle for eternity. I’ve done my bit, I’ve put in my share. I’m known in other places as a decent chap. India? You’ve heard of India? No? Well over there humanity has a start in fact there are millions and those guys have rolled me in with one of their gods, Shiva I think, basically a good fellow, they love me but oh no not here, oh no, we have to be angels, squeaky clean, what’s wrong with a little raunch every now and then Eve, do you think?”


Eve looked away.


“Yes well, The Lord will tell you I’m a corrupter of souls which to be honest is absolute hogwash. He will tell you that you have free will, you are free agents and can make choices, except that you must make the right choice or you’ll end up in a locale undesirable for the rest of eternity. Look I’ll be straight with you before you start pumping away at humanity. Free choice is an illusion. You are what you are and can merely make one decision which is what you end up doing. You may think you have options, and you do, but being the person you are, there is only one choice. Let me introduce The Panel”


And it came to pass that before their eyes four figures appeareth. They were sitting, smiling with sparkling teeth, each with a hand on a buzzer. Adam and Eve knew not the buzzer, but I say that for you my reader, and Adam and Eve were startled and clung together and Max Price saw their shame and lo placed clothes upon them, which they found were soft and warm, and verily it put a smile on their faces.


“The Panel my dears is an ancient Greek concept and here we have four ancient Greeks who estimate your next move. Let me introduce Zeus, Persephone, Stavros and Maria. Stavros and Maria run a fish and chip emporium at the far end of Hades, melt in your mouth and the aroma is to die for ha ha. You may think of these folk as gods and they often think of themselves that way but in reality they are like you and I, well not I ha ha, but certainly thou.


“The sequence of events known as ‘history’ is recorded and understood by the concept of ‘time’. In fact all events have occurred and can be accessed at any point. Think of it as a flat picture, a cave drawing. The aim of The Panel is to have fun, with real live players, and how do they do it? They do it because they have your specifications, your characteristics, your DNA, your personality, and so given a set of circumstance, for example if Eve were to bear children, using the information they project what should happen in the future, in minutes, hours, days or years – the sex of the children, what she might name them and so on. Now, the score is greater the further the prediction. Fun? It’s more fun than you can poke a stick at. What? The estimate is checked against the actuality. What? So fun guys.”


Lo the anguish of The Lord then echoed into the Valley of Darkness and boulders boomed into the darkest chasms and shook the earth. The Panel disappeared. Adam drew Eve closer. Max Price’s dark figure filled the cave which became icy, glittering with stalactites like knives poised to strike. His voice hardened and ripped into the void. They covered their ears but verily they could hear. They covered their eyes but still they saw.


“I…I …will NOT be compromised nor praised by posterity. My shadow will cause the earth to groan in its burden of fear and destruction. My legions will roam the earth. Yea verily I will wrought such ill that even you Jehovah will tire of my vengeance. Awe will be my greeting, Woe my fortune and Death my legacy. I am random disorder. I am the Unwelcome Guest.”


Eve looked at Adam. “Shee-it. Heaveey eh Ads? This place is freezing my tits off. Whaddya reckon?” Max Price looked at Eve, then at Adam, then at Eve, stunned disbelief on his face as he slowly vanished, saying “You know……”


“Cripes Chicky Babe, just as well he pissed off. I was bored shitless eh? Could eat the crutch out of a low flyin’ duck.”


And it came to pass that Ads failed to score a low flying duck but lo he did leap upon an unwary goat and Eve found many herbs and stuff and it became a fine wholesome meal. In the fullness of time Ads (and Eve) begot Cain and Abel who were wayward youths with a liking for herbs and stuff. Verily after a night on the turps Cain slew Abel. Shit happens.


In accordance with Genesis 5.5 Ads lived to a ripe old 930 but had separated from Eve 903 years before. Eve married Mario of whom she had been carnally familiar and had 25 children and 102 grandkids. Eve was rapt. Ads married Kiralee 903 years back, she was 6 years younger and spunky as, eh? Kiralee bore Ads 4 children: Little Ads, Kezza, Stevie and Jack and became less spunky after each one. Lo she found Ads was in an adulterous relationship with That Bitch Lenore “Hey, call me Lennie” and so left him for Nicko of whom she had been carnally familiar on occasion usually Christmas parties. She kept the boys and Adam kept Lenore which lasted for 10 years before Lennie left Ads for Todd “Let me turn your lights on babe” The Electrician.


And so the Earth spun around with neither favour nor malice in tune with the nature of this particular existence. The Panel played their game unbeknownst to anyone, always smiling. Adam and his seed stumbled and fumbled onward as humanity increased, making mistakes, making progeny, dying, waging wars, and occasionally being beset with natural disasters, plagues, pestilence, famine, flood and other population reducing inconveniences. In early years it was believed that the Lord God Jehovah launched these initiatives at mankind, to teach respect, or in recognition of the errors of their ways. Later humanity following arguments by Dawkins and Hitchens, among others, generally regarded religion as superstition and mythology and it became clear that no superior celestial being, if there were any, had any interest whatsoever, beneficial or malicious. Except maybe Batman. Shit happens.






The Recipe


The recipe which commences “if you are hungry, catch a slow goat” has long since gone. So, I have appropriated an excellent Sri Lankan recipe to tack onto my story. Of course it has been modified to my taste. Folk culture, whether cuisine, music or other art benefits from interaction, and is reborn. You can substitute lamb, pork or beef for goat meat, in fact adapt to your own taste.


Finely grind the following spices:


2 tsp brown mustard seeds
½ teaspoon whole peppercorns
3 tbls coriander seeds
2 cloves


Grind or blend the following:


1/4 medium Spanish red onion
½ inch piece ginger
3 medium cloves garlic
4 coriander roots
2 small hot chillies, red or green


Heat 3 tablespoons of oil – corn, macadamia, olive or peanut – to medium and add


1 medium cinnamon stick
2 whole cardamom pods (crushed to put a split in pod)
2 bay leaves
½ kilo approximately (can be more) lamb, goat, pork or beef


Sear the meat quickly. Add the spices from the first bracket. Fry for 1 minute. Add the 2nd bracket. Fry for 5 minutes.


Add 1 cup good dry white wine and 1 cup water, 1 tsp lemon juice, 2 tablespoons Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce and 1 tsp salt.


Cover and cook on low heat - 90 mins for beef, 60 minutes for goat, lamb or pork. Add 2 chopped coriander plants and 270 ml tin of coconut cream.
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The 19th annual Byron Bay Bluesfest was held at Bilongal Fields. A definite venue improvement, being about five times the acreage of Red Devil Park. Each area self contained with foodstalls, bars and toilets. No leakage of sound, there was space to relax and a pleasant walk between venues. The photo shows Len swamped once again by local beauties who appeared to enjoy the company of the urbane gent in the jaunty panama.

Many more super photos of the Bluesfest can be found at my Picasa site http://picasaweb.google.com/barry.mcgloin

The Weather. What? No rain apart from one morning at 07:00 when it fell in torrents as we headed for the showers, beautiful to experience but following that... just sunshine, warm balmy ocean embalming sea spray days.

During this year of the drought The Len had turned his attention to upgrading our mobility, sleepability and cookability, which had bugger all to to with the drought but this Vision had brought forth pushbikes, camp beds and a portable burner and frying pan. Wow, Len and I we were mobile, we could sleep well and eat well. Thank you Len, we said. Just 5 minutes into town zooming along the bike path, dive into the ocean to catch a wave or two, then up to the splendid beachfront cafe for a blues brekkie of the Full Goriller for Len, eggs Benny with salmon or the Turkish brekkie for me, the morning newspapers and chai tea to accommodate the Indian within. Om. Alternatively we could cycle back to the tent for the big fryup of eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms and the gourmet sausage. Then maybe back into town to place a bet or two on the gee gees, if one was thus inclined. Where? The Great Northern of course, where one could sup on a Guinness, Coopers or any exotic variety of uplifting liquid to inspire your choice of losing nag. And mate, was Len inspired.

Our fellow Bluester Paddy could only make it for the final day this year, the big fella was crook following his NZ cricket tour and St Pat’s Day. He was debilitated but dogged, off the booze and loping through the dry Monday like an Irish setter chasing shadows.

The Music.
It was impossible to see all acts, so the strategy was to see those we had both picked. Mostly this worked, although somehow Len missed Hat Fitz but that was down to some confusion over the venue, and if you go to the wrong venue it can be a long trot to the right one....so you may as well stay where you are. As Len points out below, there were approximately 120 acts, and unless you can clone yourself you can only see (and give yourself enough time to enjoy) about one fifth of what is available.

Acts that could have been? Well where was C.W. Stoneking (with his band)? Where were the Kings of Leon? Where was Tinariwen, Salif Keita, Ska Cubano, Detroit Cobras, Dropkick Murphys, Natasha Atlas, Neville Bros, Susheela Raman, The Pogues, Hazmut Modine, Legendary Shack Shakers, Artic Monkeys, Franz Ferdinand, C C Adcock, Little Richard, Keef, Ronnie, Graham Parker, Elvis Costello, Chisel, Oils....... Buddy Holly?? Well.....all right, we did fine.

The notes below are my assessments in order of preference of those we saw.....well Len didn’t see Hat as mentioned, because he became disoriented in a bar...... These are followed by Len’s ratings which have been calculated using The Len Rating Scale, his sure fire method which nails a performance into it’s appointed spot.



Hat Fitz & Itchy The Juke Joint was chokers with about half the outside area also full. The atmosphere was hot, sweaty and intense as The Hat and Itchy seared the air with their intense, manic performance. It was unbelievable, such rhythmic power, the audience jumping and clapping, this was the G spot of rock, the absolute essence. It was as close as you might dare to imagine Son House, Charlie Patton or Robert Johnson in a 1930s juke joint. Unlike US roots performer Seasick Steve, Hat doesn’t spice up the show with patter, in fact in a rare moment of soul searching he commented “Errr, you might notice that I don’t talk as much as some…… that’s because I’ve got nothin’ intelligent to say…..”


Guy Davis. We were drawn to Guy’s two performances - I'd caught him two weeks previously in Canberra, an excellent guitarist, banjo and harmonica player and vocalist – and mostly his own material – such a fabulous entertainer using his acting skills well. Much sexual metaphor, double entendre, which is traditionally part of the genre plus Guy’s added mannerisms and facial expressions made for very entertaining performances. I wondered though whether such caricature bothered such a proud intelligent man.

Collard Greens and Gravy These guys are at the roots end of the scale, like Hat and Guy, the soul of this festival for me. This is real music - no frills, swamp boogie and deep blues played with consummate art and conviction. Ian Collard is a virtuoso harp player with Shortie Shortte a fine drummer and James Bridges an excellent understated guitarist.

Kate Miller-Heidke I had no idea or expectation here. Wow!! I was mesmerised. This girl abounds in talent with her operatic voice and spiky wit, supported by a top band. They covered the John Farnham OZ hit ‘You’re The voice’ and knocked us out, I couldn’t believe the arrangement - it was sooooo good. The audience went bananas.

The Lost Dogs.

The open warm personality of Kasey Chambers, here in The Lost Dogs linking her musicianship with husband Shane Nicholson and her father, Bill Chambers. This was quite a surprise, these blue ribbon country musicians doing choice covers like they're sitting on a verandah; 'Dirt Music' in the words of Tim Winton, relaxed and rich. The Tom Waits song 'Big in Japan' was superb.

Seasick Steve US entertainer Seasick Steve is a big character, slugging from his “stage prop” his earthy amusing patter kept the crowd enthralled in fact word must have got around because the second performance was chokers. Similar in the style of Hat Fitz ie early country blues though not quite as manic



Sinead O’Connor the beautiful bald bold banshee from Ballytown graced the stage and boy can she sing. Mother of four ( maybe another on the way?) she took us through her mighty repertoire including three fab new songs from Theology. The only song which didn’t come off for me was Mandingo from The Lion & The Cobra (her great first album). It was a treat to see this artist in action.


Ruthie Foster another gutsy female with lots of presence. Ruthie sang her heart out, blues and gospel, the crowd loved her as did Len and I.

Damien Dempsey supporting Sinead on her tour the ‘security guard’ from North Dublin was surprisingly good, he reminded me of a young Christy Moore. Like Moore he’s political, passionate and writes good material (the first we’d heard of him, very impressive). The Irish contingent in the audience proudly displayed the Irish flag and were yelling encouragement and for favourites – great to see!!

John Fogerty the star of the festival for most. The old Foggo didn’t let us down, apart from one number where his guitar was either out of tune, or someone was playing in the wrong key. He trotted out all hits together with equally good numbers from the new album. Best for me was Centrefields’ Old Man Down The Road. I would have loved Susie Q backed by Spell on You, as he performed them on the live CD ‘Premonition’, and Run Through the Jungle’ but ya can’t have everything. He gave the crowd more than their money’s worth

John Hiatt won best dressed award of the Bluesfest, you’d reckon such a good songwriter could afford at least a Fogerty checked shirt !!

John Hammond a legend with an impeccable line coming straight from Robert Johnson, through Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Ry Cooder, this man is a consummate performer. His last CD 'Push Comes to Shove' is so good - on a par with 'Wicked Grin' and I would have loved to see him perform with the band but he does it so well solo.

GOCOO & GoRo very entertaining Japanese percussion, flute, synth

Loudon Wainwright 111 a feisty performer, you wouldn’t want to be the sound guy, imperious and arrogant yet he puts out great songs. His daughter Lucy Wainwright Roche joined him for two songs, also a fine voice in the family tradition – Martha Wainwright was superb last year – refer my review.

Boyes,Brill & Dellgrosso I caught about 15 minutes – you can’t see everyone - but what I did see and hear was damned fine. Rodrigo and Gabriela as usual astounded their audience.

John Cleary & the Abbsolute Monster Gentlemen from N’Awlins, very funky with Cleary doing a wonderful ‘Tipitina’

Jools Holland & Orchestra you don’t get to hear jump blues often - great to hear this big band swing, albeit for 20 minutes...

Wilco are a top favourite of Len, they didn’t twiddle my knobs much at all. Admittedly the band took off a couple of times with their impressive, albeit ostentatious lead guitarist

Ray Davies the Absolute Lege. I’m a huge Kinks fan, love their stuff, but I caught Ray after Hat’s superb gig, and here was the old trouper doing a karaoke ‘Lola’ which I assumed was his last number, and he was struggling with staying in tune I thought, like the disappointing Royal performance of a couple of years back, so being fatigued from the day's doings we walked back to the tent…. and heard him belt out all the old favourites, sounding spot on....should have stayed

Mamadou Diabate was entrancing on the kora. Yunasi, The Cat Empire, The Audreys, Charlie Muswellwhite and Jeff Lang were all good. The Cruel Sea were also good, but I was expecting much more, and Don MacLean, well…….. not really a disappointment because I wasn’t expecting much although I saw Don perform a free concert in Hyde Park, London in 1974 and he was good back then and the park was packed, but now he’s somewhat Las Vegas, although I was pleased that he started with a couple of Buddy Holly songs.

Len's Picks

Bazza ok, I have reviewed my scratch ratings from the worn schedules I kept, given it some more thought, rapped it around a rating scale and here is the result; ratings for all Artists seen in entirety:
Sinead O'Connor 10.00 John Fogerty 9.95 Wilco 9.90 John Hiatt 9.85

Collard Greens & Gravy 9.80 Ruthie Foster 9.75 The Lost Dogs 9.70

Damien Dempsey 9.65 Guy Davis 9.60 Seasick Steve 9.55 Rodrigo y Gabriela 9.50

GOCOO + GoRo 9.45 Jeff Martin 9.40 Loudon Wainwright III 9.35 Jon Cleary 9.30

Ray Davies 9.25 John Hammond 9.20 Mamadou Diabate 9.15 Jools Holland & His Rhythm and Blues Orchestra 9.10 Jeff Lang 9.05 Charlie Musselwhite 9.00 Will Conner 8.50

Hollie Smith 8.00 The Cruel Sea 8.00 JJ Grey & Mofro 7.00 Don McLean 5.00

Unfortunately, I was only able to see about 25% in depth. There were about 120 acts over the 5 days and I saw the above 26 artists. I was able to see a couple of songs from about another 10 acts but not enough to rate them fairly.

NED KELLY'S FEAST

This piece was published in Narrator Magazine Summer 2011 edition. Below is the original which echoed the style of Kelly and Byrnes' Jerilderie letter in minimal punctuation, once the narration moved from third person to first person.   

Ned Kelly sat in his cell singing softly, a condemned man, beaten by pride and circumstance, in body and spirit. He could have escaped the Glenrowan siege; indeed he had been tempted during the night while resting on the mountain, his Gethsemane. But Ned Kelly was a man of honour and reputation, poor Byrne dropped and the two boys was trapped in the pub.

At the end though, he’d staggered shooting through the rising mist, bravado and brandy yelling “come on boys we’ll whip the lot of them” when the return fire was a cacophony of hail in his headpiece and Byrne’s mare Music had skittered past in some mad dream of smoke and mist rearing her frightened head pleading “climb up, climb up”, then he might have bolted, mounted and away like the phantom Bunyip. But his limbs were buggered by shot, besides, he’d had enough.

Well he was cooked now. The boys in peace God rest them. Just him alive. The trial had not gone his way. He’d thought justice would prevail, but the traps had cooked the books, larded the witnesses and the judge had no bone of mercy, understanding or justice in his body, fry him forever with those puffed up adders who ponced and preened in high places wanting him and his kind eradicated from this English colony. He represented rebellion, uprising, disrespect. An outlaw. His own plan for an Irish Republic had gone awry, skewed and skewered by treachery. That bastard school teacher warning the train. I trusted him. Snakes in the skullery. When all seems well and the glow of trust is upon you be wary. Too much grog. The train late. Too many jigs. The Innkeeper Ann was a possum in the pantry very generous. I won’t see her again. What could have been.

We had a grand life me and the lads the freedom to roam our land our land our beautiful land in all its seasons its glorious colours aromas of earth and rain on grass and eucalypt such majestic moods and holy power to cleanse and heal. We was kings bold fearless and free what did Joe say? Lords of our Dominion. I liked that. Poor Byrne trusted friend many’s the sprightly conversation we had around the camp fire night belly full of roo or possum stew pass the pipe of Chinese midnight wisdom and he yabbering the pigtail tongue. Kings in our warmth and certainty. Remember the time we ran the horses to Melbourne Joe for old times sake with Tom then with a bag of booty out to the Palace of Plenty and the twins from Siam Yin and Yang with their treats and tricks and monkey nuts such soft welcome splendour and comfort and full feathered dreams of far off Siam. Kings. And the food from the heavenly orient to conclude. Sure my eyes and palate never dreamed such wonders.

This place now the cold blue sour stones of English justice I could walk through if I tries hard inviolate to their repression but for the figure crouched there I don’t know his demeanour whether friend or foe. The priest gave small comfort my absolution withheld subject to my contrite heart which can never be when I would do the same now. My mother locked in the same gaol my precious guiltless mother on stewed up testimony from a crooked loafing scoundrel of a traps arse which the judge never questioned. My God says I and the priest wanting me to be contrite never I replied you’d better leave father before I say more than I should before the fire in my breast bursts upon your eyes. He went out praying for my soul he could be praying for some time yet but I pray that Our Lady will intercede she has helped in the past though I could not find comfort anywhere after shooting Kennedy but what choice had I. I wonder if St Peter at Heaven’s gate will look at my sins of murder theft and pride and see my circumstance. I wonder will he quote the commandments my second judge don the black cap and send me down again or say Ned my son you was pushed beyond your limits step inside and rest now.

I could have let Kennedy go as he run but I thought he was aiming didn’t I, not surrendering. I’m sure that was it. I think that was it. I swore that was it. I may have been mistaken and my impulse my command of aim my mantle of retribution before my men may have interceded. God forgive you said he. Dying words. No, I’m sure I gave him justice. Took his watch yes old habits just business. And shot him. So the creatures of the bush wouldn’t eat him alive. Merciful. More than the fat sow faced beak who sent me down himself Irish like traps Scanlon Kennedy and bastard Lonigan who I beat to the draw with a hole smack through his skull for the time he grabbed my privates in Benalla. Your own kind the scimitar of English justice what hope is there. He is me and I him. Like the figure in my cell. Let’s hope to Christ St Peter is Christian says I.

History

This recipe was handed down somehow through the years on yellowed piece of paper to family on my wife’s side. It was entitled ‘Yin’s Heavenly Salad for Ned Kelly, Tom Lloyd and Joe Byrne 18 August 1878’. Some venerable great aunts way back in Wangaratta may have been friendly with Ned or his family or henchmen and a Byrne was also on my wife’s side and so through my interest in Kelly it somehow materialised, to my great delight, here in Canberra. The paper went up with our house and belongings and 500 others in the bushfire of 2003. The Siamese recipe surprisingly or perhaps not, matches pretty well some modern Thai salad dressings and the cooking of the seafood would not have changed, apart from the medium. The ancient straight from the sea to the wooden fire method would undoubtedly add flavour.


So here it is (adapted to my taste -refer the note below) and when you eat it give a nod to Ned, fire a prayer for his redemption perhaps, and imagine if you wish the Palace of Plenty, and the bounty of Yin and Yang, tricks treats and monkey nuts, the scimitar of justice, the meaning of truth and the absolution of inhumanity, and humanity as a whole, and the redemption of souls. On the other hand just enjoy it.

The Recipe

4 baby calamari
4 large prawns
2 Tasmanian scallops
baby spinach/rocket mix
6 thin slices tomato
1 small cucumber sliced thinly lengthwise
herbs – any combination coriander, dill, mint, Vietnamese mint, tarragon, parsley
pea sprouts, a few
red capsicum, a few thin slices

Dressing

2 coriander roots scraped
2 pinches sea salt
5 garlic cloves peeled
5 scud chillies
3 tablespoons white sugar
6 tablespoons lime juice
3 tablespoons lemon juice
4 tablespoons Thai fish sauce (Nam Pla)

Calamari. Slice through the outer skin vertically/lengthwise and peel off.
Extract the quill/backbone. Extract the innards by gently pulling the head. Slice the tentacles below the eyes. Slice the tube in rings. Place in bowl with 2 tablespoons of coconut milk and 2 tablespoons fish sauce (nam pla) for 30 minutes.
Prawns. Peel if you wish or leave the shell on for the colour. You can eat the shell.

Sauté the seafood for approximately 4 minutes on medium heat – drizzle with lemon juice while cooking, grind a little black pepper.

Salad: in layers of ingredients with the seafood on top

Dressing Using the mortar and pestle pound the coriander, sea salt then garlic and then chillies and add the remaining ingredients and stir to mix; it should be tart, sweet and hot. Tweak to your tastebuds by adding small portions, if you think it necessary.


Some points.
Yin notes that the fish and shellfish (I suggest prawns and calamari, maybe mussels and/or scallop) can be substituted with freshwater yabbies or thin sliced roo. Seafood may not have been so readily available in North East Victorian bush, particularly on some wallaby trail in the Strathbogies where the gang sought to avoid the traps. She writes, or someone for her, ‘chinaman garden for heb’ [herbs]. Of Chinamen and Chinese gardens there were plenty, in fact Beechworth had a huge Chinese population which has it’s own cemetery.

Uncle Ned looking for the toilet (US-washroom).

Denise and I have been guests at three weddings in 2007, Ted and Kate Kenney on 3 March 2007, Viet and Loan Vu on 19 May 2007 and Big Baz and Mary Guest on 30 June 2007. Denise retired on 24 July 2007, then returned to work after giving Cara and Greg’s garden a makeover, then left work again prior to our trip to Thailand in November/December 2007. I will continue working for my Department until my 60^th birthday in April 2008 when I expect to retire gracefully before they shoot me.

Photos of the weddings and our Thai trip plus various odds and ends can be accessed through Picasa

http://picasaweb.google.com/barry.mcgloin

Some are also on Webshots

http://community.webshots.com/user/barrymcgloin

Picasa gives the better view – and although Webshots has an attractive ‘inlining’ which slowly zooms in and out, it can reduce the photo and affect the perspective.

I decided to take a break from my radio program ‘Mystery Train’ on community radio Valley FM. This happened mid year and I may think about presenting roots music again on radio following my retirement. I did enjoy the three years’ presenting, and I thank The Listener, particularly Steve and Kirsten and fellow presenters Alex Plegt and Rob Robinson and Station Manager Chris Moy. In the meantime I'm checking out new music from many sources, plus old music which has been lovingly repackaged, and I'm looking forward to the East Coast Blues and Roots Festival at Byron Bay, Easter 2008.

In November/December 2007 Denise and I visited Thailand for the second time. A thoroughly enjoyable holiday we stayed in accommodation varying from $21 per night to $150, revisiting Bangkok and Ao Nang, but also seeing Chang Mai, Pai and Phi Phi.

The following is a copy of an e-mail I sent toward the end of the trip which records some of the highlights. An abundance of photos can be seen on my Picasa and Webshots sites:

g'day All, Denise has done most of the communication and here we are at the tail end of the holiday, so in a Basil moment I thought, after our gin and tonic hour, I would share with you some of these splendiferous trip moments.. well it has been a fantastic holiday, fantastic in the sense that Thailand never ceases to surprise in its contrasts and variety.. I'm typing this from a jungle hillside villa, part of Tipa resort, where we arrived yesterday evening, having come by ferry from Phi Phi Island Paradise Resort and a villa on the white sands of Long Beach where the waters change colour with the light and the human shape in all varieties rollick, laze, wallow and muck about. A contrasting environment is Thailand. Yeah. Fab. You look around. You ain't seen nothing yet.

Some moments (and Basil moments later Kirst and Cara):

* 6:30 am Bangkok and your intrepid traveler is out with camera leaving sleeping wife, I’m wandering through a Buddhist monastery between the Kings Cross glam, sham and seed of the Backpackers' Koh San Road and the wide Phraya River. I'm looking at a shrine near the monastery temple. The few Thais I've passed on the way don't look at you, perhaps having encountered early morning back packing revelers of the English, German,
Dutch and Aussie variety on previous occasions. A short man walks up to the shrine with a cheery smile and "hello" to me. He puts his palms together in prayer and bows
to the shrine. He has artificial hands and forearms. He smiles again and passes through the gateway.

* Thai massages are brilliant. First they give you an uppercut to knock you senseless. Then when you come round they bend your legs back to breaking point and jump on your back to see if it's made of rubber. If you exhale or squeak it's a sign of weakness. Then they rotate your feet 360 degrees using their whole body to do so. You'd think it couldn't be done. My feet unfortunately have remained English despite my Pommyectomy. They are apologetically thin, white and boney and bear no resemblance to the rest of me…. Even I fail to recognise them each morning. "God. Who put them there?" The Thai foot massage is especially blissful.
They pull each toe out from its joint. Then they hammer it back in again. You feel reborn, alive and Hindu in fact you've turned into an Indian rubber man. I always give a tip for the smile on their faces.



* we've traveled everywhere at each locality by rented motorbike, except Bangkok where I thought I might get lost. In fact I was lost in Chang Mai but eventually found my way back to the moat which surrounds the old city. Denise, as passenger was (naturally) tentative at first, trying to twist my body as we came to a bend, turn my helmet, but she's fine now and doesn't even yell "beep beep" at the traffic, who are probably as relieved as I !! A motor bike is a great way to travel, I love it. It has its surprises though.

Chang Mai and we're crossing the river over a rising humped bridge and we took the narrow side lane, a drop over the water and the missus agitated and me accelerating to get over it. "just hang on, it's ok. wow that was hairy...." Again on the back streets of Ao Nang and we came upon a makeshift bamboo bridge over a creek, the back wheels shifted, slid, and almost over the bridge when a large lady appears on a bike coming towards us. Shizen, I don't know how we didn't collide.

* in a Bangkok laneway after breakfast we met a cheery English tourist on his 4th visit this year. He is on Benefits he said. "Great to be back, love it here, why would I stay in England? So cheap. The people are friendly. Might go to the zoo today. Have you been to the zoo? Have you been to the races? Don't miss it, whatever you do, the atmosphere is unbelievable. Don't spend much, just watch, all day, unbelievable".


* we took a day tour from Bangkok to Ayathaya the Thai capital in the 1700s. The remains of huge temples now sit amid quiet tranquil gardens. The Burmese king and the Thai king fought each other on elephants and The Burmese sacked the whole splendour, burnt it and slayed every Thai. Here, just yesterday it seems, the blood sacrifice was immense, the smoke, the bellow of the elephants, screams of the victims and yells of triumph mingle with the tragedy of desecration and death. Now, in the bright beauty and tranquility the horrors have dissipated but the Thais are reticent to walk among the tragedy of history, the ghost filled ruins. Hugh, it reminded me of Culloden, those grassy humps on the cold moors where they buried the thousands of Scottish dead. Only yesterday. We enjoy a thin veneer of civilisation Denise pointed out. Yeah, Iraq… such lunacy, the legacy of Bush, Blair and our former PM, Slim Howard, the coalition of fools. Blind Freddy could have told them that if you stomp an ant's nest with a foreign, albeit democratic boot, you are likely to be stung.

* the cuisine here is excellent, the best for me being bar-b-qued whole snapper with chilli - 100 baht, about three little Aussie bucks. Brit, Irish and even German pubs abound for those who like "food just like we 'ave it back 'ome". Why would you? We also enjoyed raw prawns in chilli, garlic and lime/fish sauce, very hot, so one is almost obliged to douse with Chang, Tiger, Leo, Singha or Heineken. While eating this in a Bangkok restaurant opposite the monastery gardens a beggar with no legs came by propelling himself on a skateboard while playing a chromatic harmonica (like the character in Rohinton Mistry’s 'A Fine Balance' Cara !)

* the Thais are mostly thin and cheerful and work long hours, albeit at a very moderate pace. They peck at street snacks throughout the day. In contrast some tourists provide resplendent examples of the human species in excelsis, and the beach parade is a constant surprise to the eye, as in this picture. Some blokes prefer to remain supine rather than risk turning to stone.... It is not that long ago that females wore the full body stocking into the ocean so that males could not be affronted. Has libido petered or....or is it merely a shortage of cloth?



* from Chang Mai we traveled by sardine bus to Pai in the mountainous Golden Triangle region near the Myanmar (formerly Burmese) border where old hippies move among Danish and Swedish trekkers and tourists from everywhere. A quiet albeit crowded village, no hassles from tuk tuk drivers or Frog Ladies on the march (Sonia). We hadn't booked accommodation and hauled our huge bags (Denise had cut them down to essentials....) across a swinging bamboo bridge over a fast flowing river. On the other side in the mist were about 60 wooden huts on stilts for 400 baht - about 12 Aussie bucks - per night, but alas no vacancies. We checked a couple of resorts - one was 6,000 bahts ($180) for the night!! and so we came to Failte (Irish for ‘Welcome’) run by Dubliner Brendan. Brendan got our hospitality award for the trip. He loves a chat despite "being off the drink for a week now" and was a font of knowledge about the local region. "Try Chez Swan, you must go there, the best breakfast in town, rashers, sausages, eggs, the lot, absolute best".

So we took the place. "I hope I didn't wake youse last night. I went ballistic at dis freeloader camped in my hut - I'm supposed to be making money here. I bought this place from a Buddhist woman, I trusted her, no more Buddhist than my arse"
Brendan had bought a lemon, the books had been cooked and Failte was faulty, but Brendan is blessed by a community of pals who pitched in to help tart up the place, between beers. It was our pleasure to meet them, and it was reasonably priced, 700 baht- about 21 dollars and the experience was priceless. We checked out Chez Swan. The sign on the restaurant window said " Owner will accept all offers". Prophetic perhaps...


* Basil moments. Yes I admit to having had a few onsets of Basil. ok Kirst and Cara, I lost my motor bike..... but but extenuating circumstance whereby
we had ducked into a restaurant overlooking Ao Nang Bay during a downpour, ordered bar-b- qued seafood, which was excellent but spicy, so it had to be accompanied
with yer Chang (elephant) beer. The label shows two elephants pummeling a tree, as you would know Cara, which is the metaphor for what happens to your brain when it
tries to deal with a quantity of the 6.8% brew. "Now where did I park that bike....". We walked up and down, then down and up, holy shite some buggers lifted it.
"it's white I think with that sign on the front", says I being helpful "I know what the sign says", she replies " 'This motorbike is here'. You know Barry, most blokes wouldn't
lose a motor bike....." she can be cutting at times. Of course we found it, in fact had walked past it at least four times...

another moment. Indian tailors don't sleep. a truth in Thailand, and the shops have splendid names; House of Saville, Armani. "Gutpa I am thinking you are joining the business tomorrow, but we change your surname to Armani. It has a ring, no? Gutpa Armani?" They usually start by asking you where you are from. If Australia they say the usual "G'day mate, come inside, looking looking. good price skippy" I took someone's advice and pretended to be German which seemed to work for some strange reason. But, there we were trotting along the path in excellent humour when this Indian tailor speaks to me " Deutchlander ya?" Somewhat taken aback I said to the missus rather loudly "Bloody hell, did you here that, that chappie mistook me for a bloody Kraut". To which she whispers - "those we passed behind us are German". Most Europeans here speak English very well. I look behind and Fritz does not look pleased, at all, at all.



yet another moment of Basil. Here at our hilltop jungle retreat everything is schmick, in fact it's one of the schmickest places on earth. I stepped out onto the large verandah
overlooking the jungle and the lake down below, with my gin and tonic - G&T hour starts at 05:00, and can extend for a few hours into darkness. It was dark, that's my excuse
for putting my bare foot onto a large orange flying insect which objected to being stepped upon by such an object and sank its stinger in. Holy shite the size of it I was waiting for the leg to freeze, go numb and my appendage to drop off. but luckily i must have flattened the beastie before it could do it's worst.

a Denise moment. "where's my purse, where's my purse?" panic again. Her life is in that purse. we always find it of course, in her bag where the whole world lives. Another. Denise fell out of a boat, arse first into the Andaman Sea. Laugh !! we both had a good old laugh about that. Fortunately she held my bag up, quick instinct. The camera was in it.

* we enjoyed snorkling around both Phi Phi islands and at Phra Nang Princess Cave. Took a long tail boat tour around Phi Phi and the boatman stopped just outside Monkey Bay. under the mighty limestone cliffs we slowly swam through a cave which opened to a small lagoon with bright sandy bottom. At the opening were many fish hardly moving, suspended. Time suspended here; this was limbo where the souls lie between heaven and hell. Out through the dark side of the cave, suddenly millions of tiny fish, huge shoals of bright silver glass light shows moving in slow formation around you, the souls in heaven. I thought there was no end to it, we were amazed. Strangely, despite many tourists on anchored speedboats, none were here. We were blessed with nature's beauty.

* around the sheer majestic cliffs, rising out of the emerald ocean like a huge sea fortress, yet sea gypsies had constructed bamboo poles to reach, in a series of climbs I assume bird eggs. the climb appears impossible and the nerve and strength required is beyond belief.

* "Thais are the world's best copyists" Paul , a writer from Co. Meath Ireland, friend of Brendan. The resort bus collected us from Krabi Airport and the driver put on a CD. 'Return to sender, address unknown'. Yup Elvis. Denise and I were singing along. Then 'you ain't nothin' but a hound dog'. "Mmmm" I remarked to Denise, "must be an outtake - the guitar break is different". Then, 'I wonder if you're lonesome tonight', you know, the spoken bit in
the middle. Not quite. It was indeed, Elris. Thai version.

* a dog story for O who is always amused by canine antics. we walked to the reef at shark point Phi Phi to see if we could spot the sharks who feed there. No luck but saw a wet hairy doggy type of dog walk through the water looking carefully for something, then dig a hole on the beach to find a small almost transparent crab. Delighted the dog jumped around it while the crab moved in bursts towards the safety of the sea, slower now, possibly injured but still with hope. No chance I thought, the dog is quick and enjoying the fun, bounding around it, putting nose up close sniffing but wary of being nipped, then jumps up, runs around kicking up sand and then becomes muddled "where is it, my preciouses?" jumping in a ring, sniffing madly while somehow the crab sneaks off undetected, slowly does it, tentative moves, then finally with the sea in sight does the bolt, flat out and and in!! The dog still madly searching, sniffing, then looks puzzled and gives up. It has four cute pups and one comes over. The mother picks it up in her jaws, carries it to another crab hole, sniffs and starts the dig again. The pup clambers beneath
for a teat, gets covered in sand and is bowled out by the mother's energetic digging, sniffing, digging. Alas, no crab this time. Mmmm, a great hole to just lie in and watch the ocean. Plonk.




Well, I'll see you soon, back on Tuesday. No Christmas cards this year so happy Christmas and a beaut new year. luv youse all. Colleen, pls send to Stuart and Tony. fiona can you send to Owen pls? Sonia or hugh pls pass to anyone else at work who might be interested - who is left there?
Will yourself and Kirsten be available on Thursday? Cheers, Baz xxx

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It has been a busy year and I’m way behind in BLOGs.

Sharaine and Oliver - Mother and Son

OLLIE ZOOMS IN

Our third grandchild, Oliver Jack McGloin, hereto known as Ollie until he plays up, was born on 31 August 2007. He joins his sister Kaya and his cousin Safia. Sharaine and Brendan had a difficult time coping with the loss of Ollie’s twin, Jesse. Also Ollie was born with three fingers on one hand, however Brendan says it should be no impediment to his footy skills in that Ollie's Great Grandad Jack Bartlett had three fingers on one hand – admittedly the other two were blown off by a grenade but hey – and as a footy player he was no slouch, yes and it should prove no impediment to his guitar playing – gypsy jazz guitarist maestro Django Reinhardt had three fingers on one hand. The little man is a happy contented child, alive and bright and smiley. Here are some great photos, from around 12 days old, courtesy of Poppa Suri, followed by one in the Collingwood footy outfit taken by Sharaine in January 2008.

Pensive









Trust - 12 days new !!