Friday, 10 February 2012

It ain't half hot, Mum

Gawd it's hot in 'ere.  I gather in Aber its about 40 degrees at the moment.  So it is in Perth, merely with a different temperature measuring system, or so Julian says.  He has tried to explain to me the difference between Fahrenheit and Centigrade, or is it Celsius, or does it matter if they are the same ... except Fahrenheit isn't the same, or so I'm told.  Anyway, I'm roast lamb and you lot in Wales are cold as mutton, I gather.

Anyway, it's off to the University Club of Western Australia (calling another university UWA is bound to cause loads of problems even though we are desperately trying to get everyone to call us Aberystwyth University these days and still finding embarrassing examples of our not having updated some of our signs and documents yet) where the facilities are wonderful, the beer cold, and the welcome predictably warm.  John Watts was our saviour for the evening, having sorted out the venue and helped us navigate some of the interesting bureaucracy.  He was joined by stalwart supporters Don and Anne Boyer, not to mention Roger Dean and Michael Hession - to name but two.  There were lots of newcomers too and even a lost sheep (a somewhat inappropriate metaphor I would suggest) who turned up out of the blue and much appreciated for all that (Good on yer, Stefan).



Of course, being Perth, 90% of those present were Geologists.  Now, I need to digress briefly:  Western Australia is undergoing a natural resources boom with massive labour shortages and ridiculous amounts of money being available for anyone from kitchen helpers via truck drivers to petrochemists willing to be flown into the outback to help dig up anything that doesn't move on a two week on, two week off, basis.  Cue the geologists, aka Gods in their own lunchtimes.  If they say dig in a place, it gets dug.

Imagine the incredulity, therefore, when we found a geologist within the room who was working for a bank!  In any event, Julian was saved from lynching as the representative of the place that had merged its geology department with the hated geographers for the second year running (thanks to some nifty footwork and a hatload of blarney) and the evening rolled on very pleasantly indeed.  Again, Anne Boyer held me for the photograph as last year and was just as respectful as before.  Julian got sunburnt, the friends that put him up wished he had gone to the hotel, and his hosts small hairy dog was looking at me with a mixture of hunger and lust which I am now glad to be away from.

Now just the final venue of this trip - Dubai.  It's been a year - I wonder if we'll recognise the skyline?

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