OK so I’m 62. There we are. Move on. Our lovely landlady G said I don’t look a day over 50. Is she about to put the rent up, perchance?

To celebrate, it rained all the night before, all day, and now again. There’s a goddamn hole in our kitchen ceiling where the upstairs balcony lets water in. There’s a bucket hanging above our oven, and a constant drip drip. Outside there’s a constant flow of water from sky to sidewalk, to gutter and road, down hill, any which way. The centre of the city is a mess, and there are more people inside something – anything – than I guess a Sydney summer has ever seen.

We too succumbed. We did Culture as if we were in a Paris or Amsterdam springtime bemoaning the weather and scurrying for cover. This we did not expect. The MCA is a lovely place by the harbour, and there’s a Grayson Perry show on, but that wasn’t for us right now.

We went round the Aussie galleries, where there is mostly Native art. I’d love to report about the beauty and deep meaning of Aboriginal art, to show how clever and sophisticated I am, to demonstrate my worldly learning. The thing is, I just don’t have the cultural references, the symbolism, the iconography to know what I’m looking at. Take this piece above, created by a number of different artists from one region. Pretty, eh? But it took some asking to find what it is. A view in section of a huge area of land, with the underground waterways coursing deep through it, and telling stories of the landscape  and its people. If this is figurative, you can imagine how difficult it is to understand more symbolic works.

I like that native work is embraced by the art establishment, but I felt a little uneasy that the more relevant verbs might be ‘appropriated’, or ‘attenuated’ or heaven forfend – ‘democratised’. But I’ve been here 5 minutes, so what do I know? And what does an Aussie, or an American or a South African feel – of whatever cultural origin – when they come to Britain and see works as diverse as those from White, Black and Asian heritages? I think it’s probably less my unease than just way too early for me to understand.

Then later in the evening we braved the rain again for a meal not too far away in Chippendale (guess what the men looked like). We dined at a top ‘two hat’ restaurant – Ester, courtesy of S as part of my birthday present. (Thank you Mum!!!). The food was amazing even by my internationally infamous super-cool standards. Made Heston look like a snotty schoolchild showing off his conkers while the big boys got with the girls and the rock’n’roll. King Fish sashimi with black garlic sauce, cauliflower with almond milk sauce and mint, leeks with charred sesame dust, spatchcock chicken with bread and garlic sauce (we like garlic), burnt pavlova with passion fruit curd and elderflower crumb (we like char), bio organic Orange wines. This meal was so good (the chef ex Rockpool – the ‘best’ in Sydney), the place so effortlessly chic, the staff so knowledgeable, that we will be going back I’m sure. I am beginning to like this city!

There’s a long way to go before too many value judgments, and the real swing factor might be the sunshine. Aah, sunshine, that myth of summer, when will you ever show? Apparently it will finally clear this evening and hit 33C by Tuesday, when this rain will be a distant memory… Yeah, right…

ps Thanks for all your supportive comments, and your birthday wishes here, on Facebook, by email… even by phone! Do keep ’em coming… It’s my first blog, so I don’t know if it works – and how I can improve it – unless YOU tell me!!!