Monday, August 29

There's always something happening in a hospital. I'm in a 4-bed ward with three other men. One seems OK but the other two are sad cases. One sleeps most of the time but in the evening he wakes up and keeps everyone on their toes, tryingto get out of bed and complaining. His long-suffering wife sits watching him sleep hour afafter hour.

The fellow opposite is called Norm. He's only a couple of years older than me but looks 100. He spends his time staring into space. When the lights go out he starts a long monologue full of swear words, complaining about being ignored by everyone.

The third fellow just gets on with his life, not drawing attention to himself. He only has one bad habit: in the afternoon , he likes to listen to the races on his radio, so we all have to listen to the races!

The hospital has a big staff. There's one flying squad of beefy men called 'the boys' who help out with patients who can't turn over. Every now and then, one of the nurses will call for 'the boys' and they rush in like the Spanish Inquisition (and nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!). Drag the curtains around the bed and carry out their rituals in secret. Then they rush out again.

Saturday, August 27th

It's coming up to 5 o'clock and I'm approaching my 90th hour in hospital. Late on Tuesday afternoon, I felt a bit strange. Things got progressively worse and Marilyn finally insisted on ringing an ambulance. It seems I've had a stroke and am now set up in the specialist stroke unit of the Launceston General Hospital. My problems are centred in my right arm and leg but my speech and cognition have not been affected. I expect to be here for another week at least.

Sadly, we've had to cancel our trip to the Philippines and Thailand in October. I'm confident that I will have improved enormously by then but we had planned to be away for three months, and that's too ambitious. Best to postpone until we see how things unfold.

it's difficult to type with the 'wrong' hand so I'll keep my posts short.

Thursday, August 18

I heard this morning that 'Vietnamese authorities' have cancelled the celebrations for the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Long Tan.  Disappointing for the thousands of people who have travelled there from Australia but not surprising, I suppose.  It's a big cheeky (and insensitive) to rub their noses in what, to them, was a crushing defeat.  Anzac Day on the Gallipoli Peninsula is different; we lost that battle so our commemoration there is about the dreadful loss of life.  Crowing about a victory while the Vietnamese look on is a whole different ball-game.

Harry Smith, the OIC at Long Tan was interviewed yesterday on radio.  Here's a man who has never forgotten.  Oblivious to political correctedness, he talked about looking forward to meeting 'the enemy' on friendly terms and having lunch with 'the enemy' and so on.  Last time I looked they are now our friends, but old habits die hard.

One of the good things about the TV coverage is that we are treated to multiple playings of the Redgum song, I Was Only 19.  This is one of the great anti-war songs, right up there with The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.

I've resisted talking about the Census debacle but I have to repeat one comment I heard the other day.  Somebody on radio was saying: Mr Turnbull is making the job look so hard!  The on-going incompetence of some of his ministers, the constant niggling from the Abetz gang, and the attention-seeking of the cross-bench senators would make the task of getting up in the morning really hard.  It's certainly true that when the crew is off its game, things go wrong.

Wednesday, August 17

This idea of Christmas in Winter is getting out of hand. Last night was our third contrived mock-Christmas celebration this year and, even though it was good fun, we hardly need an excuse to eat a roast dinner and wear a funny paper hat. Last night was organised by our Rotary club as a social occasion but with the underlying intent of putting some cash in the pockets of the Mole Creek Hotel which has been doing it tough since the recent floods frightened the tourists away. Apparently, some 50000 tourists explore the Mole Creek Caves in a normal year but a couple of the better caverns were flooded and have been closed.

The cash our group of 50 contributed must have been welcome, but It's just a drop in the bucket, really.

At out first Yuletide celebration, back in July, we were informed that the idea of a mid-year Christmas came from the clever burghers of Katoomba and Leura in the Blue Mountains looking for a way to attract tourists when there was snow on the ground. This was back in the 1980's so it's only taken 30 years for it to become a tradition.