Monday, January 1

It's been a fairly typical year with our Christmas food.  The crayfish was gone by Christmas, the last of the prawns were eaten on Boxing Day and the ham lasted until New Year's Eve.  The Christmas pudding has a long use-by date so we're going to see that for some time to come.  We still have lots of cherries and grapes and enough chocolate to start a shop.  For a welcome change of diet, we went out yesterday for fish and chips on the beach at Devonport.

We're watching a show on TV called APB about an eccentric billionaire who takes over a police precinct in Chicago and re-equips it with high-tech gadgetry.  In last night's episode, I heard a couple of phrases that sounded like Donald Trump (e.g. my speech will be wonderful!) so I googled it to see whether anyone else felt the same.  To my surprise, I found an article criticising this program, and a couple of others, for promoting Donald Trump's agenda.

This is the point: the show says crime is out of control, there is carnage on US streets, and only a billionaire fixer can sort it out, even though he has no background in the area.  The 'solution' is un-nuanced and follows the tough-on-crime mantra without trying to deal with the underlying causes.  The article points out that the show is made by Fox and that network is notoriously supportive of Trump.  

Another of the culprit shows, 24:Legacy, about Islamist terrorism, is also made by Fox.

It's not fair!  I only watch evening TV for entertainment; I don't want my mind manipulated in the process.

Saturday, December 30

I sometimes forget how big Australia is.  Marilyn is reading a book where one of the characters is travelling by train between London and Vienna.  It's set in the mid-1900s, so it's taking days and Marilyn asks, How far is it?  Off the top of my head, I suggest it's about the same distance as from Launceston to Brisbane, because it's no use quoting a number.  Marilyn prefers a more concrete explanation than an abstract number.  In any case, I had no idea but when I checked it was more like the distance from here to Canberra.  Hardly any distance at all in our vast continent but, in the Old World, you would have crossed several international borders in that time.

It was nice to read the review of Jamie's latest album:

... after 10 months in the making, JJ.Christie releases his full length release for the year after sitting on it whilst other projects were being finished and released. After the success of "The Big Melt", including the runner-up for the Echosynthetic Synthy Awards, Collaboration of the Year, JJ takes us on another journey of exploration into the parallel universe of progressive synthwave with the incomparable "Synaesthesia: Cognitive Perception". This album brings into the frame, the perceptual phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway. 

Its an album full of hooks, laid down grooves, and downright great songs. Its sure to delight for listen after listen as the layers peel away to reveal surprise after surprise.

 

Tuesday, December 26

So, that's Christmas for another year.  Thank goodness, we've evolved from the old rituals: early-morning wake up to open our presents, the house filled with heat from the turkey cooking in the oven, piles of roast vegetables and everyone crashed out in the afternoon.  It's a shame you don't see kids riding their new bikes around the streets any more but that was probably a short-lived phenomenon, anyway.

This year, the Christmas feast was ham, prawns and salad, and lots of fruit.  Jamie and Nera managed to get hold of a crayfish which was a rare treat and we still had hot Christmas pudding, but that was only by accident.  Marilyn had promised to provide Christmas pudding for the Probus Christmas party, and bought enough for thirty people at the Craft Fair (at great expense).  Then the plans were changed so we have enough pudding to last us for months.

Christmas traditions are interesting,built, as they are, on very flimsy foundations.  I read an article which says all our traditions are based on just two books and a poem: the bible and A Christmas Carol, and 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. There is nothing in the bible about an Inn or a stable, and there is no mention of sheep and cows standing around the baby.  But the PR and Marketing people have turned the bones of a story into the behemoth it is today.

We finished the day by watching the Royal Command Performance.  How English it is!  Every year, they trot out heroes of past glories.  This year it was Torvil and Dean, and Shirley Bassey.  They farewelled a couple more cheesy comedians, including Bruce Forsyth, which gave everyone a chance to enjoy his particularly cheesy catchphrase, 'It's nice to see you, to see you nice.'  And the Royal guests had to sit there and look amused at being teased and mocked.  

It was a great day.

Sunday, December 24

Marilyn and I each have a new mobile phone for Christmas.  Mine is a hand-me-down from Jamie but it's an iPhone 6+ so I'm not complaining.  Marilyn likes a smaller phone so she has a sparkling new iPhone 5S.  When I started to transfer my contacts and so on from the old phone to my new one, I was surprised to see that I had around 20000 saved messages, although it's probably more accurate to call them accumulated rather than saved because no conscious decision was made to hold on to them.

For some reason, Gmail downloads my messages in three areas: Primary, Social and Promotions.  It's in the Promotions area that most of the trouble is caused.  Every time I click on a website, some robot snatches my email address and starts the process of sending me unsolicited messages which end up in my Promotions folder.  Because I don't find the idea of Promotional Messages interesting, I seldom look there and the pile builds up.  

I also discovered a cache of old messages in a folder entitled Personal.  They are mostly dated 2010 and it seems I went through a stage of putting aside messages I thought worth keeping, but that resolution didn't last long. There was a similar folder for Travel with old itineraries and flight information. Some of the messages even went back to 2005 but because I had forgotten them and never looked at them again, they have gone forever.

So, my old phone has been set aside to be passed on to someone who likes Samsungs.  My only issue is that my iPhone has been operational since Wednesday and I haven't had any calls yet.  I reassure myself that people are too busy at this time of year to make calls but I suspect that is just rationalisation.

Tuesday, December 19

We were at a 6 year-old's birthday party on Sunday (poor child, having a birthday so close to Christmas!) and one of the guests was telling us about the doggie day care where she drops off her pet on days she is working.  It's open from 7 and there is blackboard at the entrance outlining the activities for the day.  It might be a walk in the park, or playing with vegetables, or dress-up.  One day recently, they had a super-hero day when all the poor creatures were forced to wear outfits representing Superman et al. I suppose some were embarrassed by having to wear their underpants outside their trousers.

One area is set aside where elderly dogs, or grumpy ones, can lie around, not taking part in the festivities.  The centre has rules: they won't accommodate dogs who are aggressive or 'have unpleasant habits'.  That last one's a beauty.  Can you imagine saying to a devoted owner, 'I'm sorry, Mrs Weinstein, we can't take Harvey any more.  His unpleasant habits are becoming too much of a problem."

Another Christmas 'do' today: a picnic at a local dam.  The weather is threatening rain but we'll chance it anyway.

Sunday, December 17

Marilyn and I watched the Australian movie, Lion, last night.  Apart from the fact that it took out a swag of awards at the Australian Film Awards, we were interested in a Tasmanian connection.  It's the story of a young Indian boy who was scooped up from the streets of Kolkata and adopted by a couple from Hobart.  The Couple, John and Sue Brierley, run a business supplying hydraulic hoses and fittings so are quite well known in the state.

It's an extraordinary story.  Saroo was born in the west of India but, through a series of misfortunes, he found himself on a train which ended up at Howrah Railway Station in Kolkata, in the south-east of the country.  He was only 6 so was lucky to be rescued.  By an extraordinary coincidence, he found himself enrolled in Howrah Primary School in Hobart.  Twenty years later, he decided to try to find his old home.  Using Google Earth, he worked back along the railway lines until he recognised some landmarks.  You would think it was fiction if you didn't know better.

I also downloaded the book Saroo wrote of his experiences, Long Way Home, and the film certainly does it justice.

Wednesday, December 13

Today is the day I normally drive the bus to Swimming but, to celebrate another successful year, the group decided to go out for lunch instead. We went to the Country Club Casino for their buffet; I was handed an envelope with $30 to thank me for driving. Lunch was only $22.50 so I'm in front.

There were probably 200 in the dining room: 95% over 75 and 85% female. It's the same wherever you go now; there's a mature female-led recovery going on in the catering industry.

The buffet was pretty good but the only hot meat was Roast Turkey and the prawns had spent their recent life in plastic bags packed in Vietnam. Still, there was plenty to enjoy and a good range of desserts.

I've watched two movies this week about Winston Churchill, both made in 2017. I don't know why the interest in Churchill all of a sudden but both movies were worth watching. After reluctantly enjoying John Lithgow playing the great man in The Crown, I was resigned to a couple more caricatures in the latest offerings, but my fears were unfounded. Gary Oldman was a bit shouty in Darkest Hour, and he didn't quite capture Churchill's dour exterior, but Brian Cox really lived the part in Churchill. The only jarring note was the way his Scottish accent slipped through from time to time. Although, when I think of it, Churchill represented the constituency of Dundee for fourteen years so maybe he picked up scraps of the Doric?

Saturday, December 9

It's good to see the Pope continues to deal with the pressing concerns of the world.  The papers this afternoon report that the Holy Father wants to make a change to the wording of the Lord's Prayer.  He wants to change the line 'lead us not into temptation' because it implies that God is encouraging people to give in to temptation. 

Of, course, there are those who resist the change.

The Rev Ian Paul, an Anglican theologian, said the pope’s comments would make traditionalists nervous.

“The word in question is peirasmos [from New Testament Greek] which means both to tempt and to be tested. So on one level the pope has a point. But he’s also stepping into a theological debate about the nature of evil.

“In terms of church culture, people learn this prayer by heart as children. If you tweak the translation, you risk disrupting the pattern of communal prayer. You fiddle with it at your peril.”

The Lord’s Prayer, which is memorised by millions of Christians across the world, appears in the Bible.

I won't be able to stop worrying about this now.

Wednesday, December 6

The threat of rain last week had local farmers scurrying to harvest the last of their hay while it was still dry.  Their business plans depend on feeding their stock with grass produced on their own property rather than buying in feed, especially in the winter. So, the paddocks are now covered in hundreds of round bales, most wrapped in plastic.

For many years the ubiquitous colour of the plastic wrap has been light green but, more and more, pink bales are appearing.  It seems the supplier of the plastic wrap makes a donation to Breast Cancer Research for every pink cover sold.  Very commendable and it's good to see that some enlightened farmers are now displaying bales covered in purple plastic with a black stripe.  I'm told that these bales have  attracted a donation for Prostate Cancer Research.  It's only fair and right; prostate cancer kills more men in Australia than women brought down by breast cancer. ( that sentence didn't come out right)

Tuesday, December 5

I have to add this postscript to yesterday's post about The Two Ronnies.  I've just seen episode 3 and in the opening monologue (although, I suppose it's a duologue as they're both involved), there was a joke about midgets (at the Midgets' Ball, the president's wife jumped out of an iced donut), one about mental illness (the police are looking for four men or two schizophrenics), and one about elections in Africa with Mr Obingo Odingo getting two nuts and the Cannibal Party getting the Reverend Peter Smedley.

Oh, the good old days before political correctness went mad!

Monday, December 4

Scratching around for something to watch, I came across the first three series of The Two Ronnies.  Remembering how much I enjoyed it the first time around, I thought it might be worth another look. What were we thinking?  I watched episode 1 of series 1 and couldn't believe how trite and unfunny it was, even though the writers included Eric Idle, Michael Palin and Terry Jones, who went on to be involved in Monty Python.  The Two Ronnies depended on sketches with elaborate costumes, funny voices and predictable dialogue.  Pretty girls provided opportunities for smutty innuendo and double entendres.

Early on, a pattern was established to have a monologue from Ronnie Corbett sitting in a chair, and the show always finished with the line, "It's Goodnight from me'" "And, it's Goodnight from him."  I think the British find catchphrases reassuring; they don't have to exert any real effort to understand what's going on, and it's handy to have a signal when it's time to laugh.

The 'guests' were another feature of the show.  I remember in a later series, one of the regular guests was Barbara Dickson who was outstanding, but the first series features Tina Charles, a 16-year who moves awkwardly and believes that belting out a song is an improvement on singing.  New World was a group of anodyne young men with guitars and suede jackets who sang folky ballads, but the highlight for me was a strange fellow called Alberto whose act consisted of making funny faces, running around in circles with a glass of water on his head, and shooting ping pong balls out of his mouth, bouncing them off a lectern and catching them again in his mouth: takes years of practice but clear evidence of a misspent youth.

I can't wait until episode 2.