I had been wading through a book I had borrowed from the library and, although I was enjoying the content, I was annoyed by the physical difficulty of holding it. It was a paperback with about 450 pages and the physical effort of holding the weight of it while ensuring it didn't close shut was making my hand ache. It would be worse if it were a hardback.
Through my irritation, I realised I had the perfect excuse to buy a new ereader; because of my new-found frailty, I needed an ereader as a physical aid! Perfect! Jamie wandered by so I cajoled him into taking me in to JB HiFi and the deed was done.
The new Kobo is a step up from the ones I had previously: much slimmer, lighter and with a different way of downloading books. Previously, I would scour the internet for free copies of what I wanted, store them on my computer, then transfer them to an SD card to slot into the Kobo. The new Kobo doesn't have an SD slot; it's all done by wifi. I can connect to various bookshops and pay for my reading (not bloody likely!), to the local library and borrow them (great!) or to sundry, unspecified other sites which may or not be useful. I have several hundred books on my computer which I would like to access so the issue now is whether I can establish a wifi link between the Kobo and the computer.
Shouldn't be impossible and gives me something to fill the time today.
Today's story is one I wrote recently.
COLD AUGUST NIGHT MARCH 1, 2024
August nights in Longford are always cold. Hamish pulled his coat more closely around his body, pushed his ungloved hands more deeply into his pockets and trudged wearily to where his car was parked. There was no one else in the streets and, apart from a bit of noise from the last revellers leaving the hotel, all was quiet. Hamish was enjoying his job at the Blenheim Hotel but the late finishes were proving difficult. Maybe he should talk to the manager to see whether a different shift might be possible.
He crossed the deserted street and trudged slowly towards the park where he had earlier left his car; as he passed Ernesto’s Coffee Shop, a flash of light in his peripheral vision caught his eye. “OPEN” the flashing sign announced to anyone watching. Open? Hamish wondered. When has Ernesto’s ever been open at this time of night? He was tired and might have continued walking but his curiosity won out and he pushed at the door.
A bell tinkled as the door opened and Hamish groped his way into the gloomy room. He had enjoyed coffee here many times and was familiar with the bizarre collection of furniture: mismatched tables and chairs and stools fabricated from the cast-iron seats of vintage tractors.
“Hello!” Hamish called out. “Is anyone there?”
A curtain swished as a hand pulled it aside and a very odd-looking individual appeared from a back room and appeared before Hamish. He was dressed all in black and wore a tartan scarf around his neck.
“Good evening, Hamish,” the strange person enunciated, in a gloomy voice. “How nice of you to call in. I suppose you are wondering why Ernesto’s is open at this ungodly hour. But I am forgetting my manners. Would you like a coffee, before I explain the situation?”
Hamish accepted gratefully and took a seat. Soon, a coffee appeared before him and the strange individual sat down opposite him, took a deep breath and intoned, “Pardon me for being abrupt but there is no time to waste. I know you’ll agree we live in interesting times and there are some of us who believe that, unless action is taken, we are all going to be surprised at how badly things will turn out. Politicians are letting us down appallingly and more and more people are living in desperation. Something must change.”
He paused as if waiting for Hamish to say something. Hamish hesitated, unwilling to commit himself to an opinion but, eventually, he murmured, “Hmmm, life’s not always easy, is it?”
“Exactly!” exclaimed the other, “And wouldn’t it be great if something could be done about it?” He paused, as if re-considering what he was about to say. Drawing a deep breath, he pressed on.
“For too long, Tasmania has been the forgotten child of the Australian nation. For too long, we have been treated as the rather simple young brother, content to be given the leftovers from the grown-ups’ table. Well, that is all about to change. A new coalition of a number of active groups is being formed. There is intelligence in this group, and integrity and energy. Our objective is to secure the independence of Tasmania from the oppression of the mainland states. Without the dead anchor of those monoliths holding us back, we can be sure of a bright future. Here, in the Apple Isle, we have the resources, the energy, the drive to become the Pearl of the Pacific. We’re in discussion with a local politician to become our new president. He’ll be only a figurehead, of course, as all the decisions will be made by a committee. I won’t tell you who he is but you will know of him.”
“Now that I’ve explained the future, will you join us?”
Hamish thought for a moment. “Where are you from?” he said, at last.
“Sydney,” replied the man.
“Nah, sorry, mate, not interested,” Hamish drawled and headed for the door.
“Wait,” the man called. “You haven’t paid for your coffee.”
What’s he thinking? thought
Hamish as he headed for his car. Who in
Tasmania is going to listen to some blow-in from Sydney. He must be dreamin’,
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