Always winter, never Christmas
The more observant (annoyingly retentive) of you may remember that I wrote a post a few weeks ago scoffing at, even mocking the Australian ‘winter’. I derided both the Aussie version of the bleak season and Aussies themselves for being fragile and delicate when the temperatures dropped below 15°C.
Well, I want to humbly retract that post. As I shivered my way to the bus stop this morning, grass crunching under my feet, I realized that Australia has a proper winter. For the last few weeks it has either been raining - and I mean raining, not drizzling, showering or sprinkling - or bright and cold. There’s no snow or bitter cold, but it’s tangibly winter. Short days, jackets, umbrellas, winter. It’s not that the winter here is terrible. No, I don’t get to the beach as I would like to, but it’s bearable. The problem is that in A Free Man’s world, winter never seems to ends.
If you’ll recall, having survived a fourth long English winter - the season that puts the blight in ‘Blighty’ - we left Britain just as the daffodils were starting to bloom. Just as the promise of spring was on the horizon, we were on a flight out of the country. After a couple of weeks in Sweden (as gloomy as Britain but with snow) and Florida (the closest I’ve seen to a summer in what seems like decades) we headed cross the equator into the Antipodean autumn.
Eight or nine months of winter is one thing, but I’d like to argue that the ’summer’ of 2007 in Britain may as well have been a winter. It rained, rained and then, just for fun, it rained some more. The Thames came unstuck and Oxford was partially under water. Oh, and then it rained some more. If you look at things in that glass half empty kind of way, it’s basically been winter for us since November of 2006.
As I to you today, from my own personal Narnia, I’m beaten. I lay prostrate to the gods of winter. What will it take - a virgin sacrifice for Boreas? A snow temple to Skadi? Do I have to slay the White Witch? Because, I’m ready to do whatever it takes. Go on and get Papa’s slaying gear, Baby Z.
The good news is that there are only 39 days until the First Day of Spring. Glorious spring.
————–
Chet Baker’s “Chet Baker Quartet with Russ Freeman” is available from .

With Dr. O’C returning to the ranks of the employed in a few weeks, this feature is likely short-lived. Maybe if we talk real nice to her she’ll continue - or at least get Baby Z born…
Dr. O’C is the latest member of A Free Man’s household to crack the job market. After what will be nearly a year in the purgatory of stay-at-home motherhood (she would quite possibly use a different word), Dr. O’C will re-join the ranks of the gainfully employed next month. This is the latest in a string of successes in our new Antipodean home and reflects one of the reasons that we came down here. And looking at things as a whole, and knocking exuberantly on wood, things are going pretty good in our new home.
There’s a fine line between being influenced by an artist and being derivative of an artitst and
It’s not secret that A Free Man is a
As you very likely know, Dr. O’C has taken on a chunk of the writing duties here at A Free Man while your underwhelming correspondent is burning the employment candle at both ends. What you may not know is that she’s largely taken over the photography duties as well. Pretty much any photo of Baby Z in the last month or so that doesn’t also have Dr. O’C in it, was taken by Dr. O’C. And I must say she’s getting pretty good at it. This photo of Z is one of my favorites to date.
Despite being nearly a presidential term removed from the U.S., I’m still an election junkie. This one has been a real cracker so far and I keep abreast of the news and commentary from the U.S. through podcasts from my favorite pundits. I’m a little embarassed to admit this, but on a weekly basis I listen to the following podcasts for my U.S. politics fix: 
Phew, that feels better. If you’re coming over from my former personal site then thanks for going through the hassle. I’m grateful to you for reading. One small favor, help me to keep this site vaguely anonymous by not using my or Dr. O’C’s surname, etc. Beyond that, things are more or less the same, as you can probably see.
Tafra is an entirely different kettle of fish. I got into this Swedish/Croatian Londoner during my trip to Sweden earlier this year but didn’t feature him at that point. The more I listen to his debut LP, “Why Even Bother” (
The Chapin Sisters













