Sunday, June 1

 It's our great-grand-daughter's birthday.  Macy is 10; we think of her as our Tasmanian great-grand-daughter as she was born in Launceston.  Unfortunately, she now lives in Brisbane and we don't see enough of her.  Madeleine, her Mum, told her that when she (Madi) was 10, her grandparents took her to Japan which included trips to Disneyland and Universal Studios.  Macy thinks that she should have the same adventure.  If only we had the energy!  Unfortunately, I don't think I could sit on a plane for the eight to ten hours necessary.

Being reminded about that trip got us thinking about the various trips we have done over the years.  One of the most bizarre was, again, to Japan where we used our timeshare to get a week's accommodation in Osaka and then joined a cruise which took us to a couple of ports in Japan, over to Korea, then to Vladivostok and ending up in Beijing,  I could write a book about that trip but I'm delighted that I have the blog to refer to and refresh my memory. 

I don't look back over the blog often enough.  It's taken a lot of energy to write and dedication to keep it going and I should make more of an effort to keep it alive.  Another resolution!  Let's hope it lasts longer than all the others.

Saturday, May 31

 It's after 12 and I'm just getting around to thinking about the blog.  Jamie called in earlier on his way to doing something else and he brought Archie with him.  Jamie always say "Can't stay" but we get talking and playing with Archie and an hour passes easily.  When he left, Marilyn produces a short list of things she needed at the local supermarket: fruit and fresh bread, and a couple of things to pick up at the chemist.  I've moved on to Webster packs for my regular meds an d they're always ready on Saturday so I picked them up as well

I had a parcel from Temu delivered yesterday; nothing special, just a few things we couldn't live without.  There was a time when we would have made a trip into KMart or Target to get those things, couple it with a cup of coffee and we would have used up half a day.  The cost of the goods would have been about the same but add in petrol and coffee and it's much cheaper to buy online.  Of course, there are intangibles that don't get considered: the value of having to get dressed; to leave the house, to see other people, and so on.

Still, I'm happy to let my fingers do the walking.

Friday, May 30

 

I had a call yesterday from some Government Department checking up on how I am going.  It happens occasionally and will be followed up a visit in a couple of days.  They wanted to know if my advanced age is causing me any problems, have we got rid of  any trip points in the unt, are there grab rails in the shower?  And, is there anything I need to make my life easier?  I mentioned that I was considering getting a lift chair to help me stand up.  I find that I get quite stiff if I've been sitting for a while and I easily lose balance when I stand up.

Mention that to the person who comes to visit, he said, and we might be able to provide some funding.

What's not to like about how we look after seniors in Australia?

The story I've dug out today was in response to a challenge to write a story about an unusual place we have been.  In January 2007, Marilyn and I were off-loaded from a cruise ship in Penang when she had a fall down some stairs and broke her nose.  We spent a couple of nights in a hospital while she was operated on and then four or five days in a hotel while she recuperated.  Not the best circumstances for a holiday but it turned out to be very interesting.  We flew on from there to the Philippines as if nothing had happened although Marilyn had to wear dark glasses to disguise the bruising,

GEORGE TOWN, PENANG, MALAYSIA                                                              21 JULY 2023

Eliza wandered through the streets expecting to feel a sense of familiarity.  After all, she had lived here for several years, nearly three decades ago, she had gone to school in this city and still had friends living here who sent her cards on her birthday and even the occasional letter.  But there was little about this modern and thriving metropolis which sparked any recollection in her memory.  She hadn’t been back since the day in 1995 when her father had been posted back to Australia and Eliza found herself having to become accustomed to an Australian school in Queensland. 

Some of the old British colonial buildings remained but she was surprised with the recently-built, modern glass and polished steel office buildings with their granite and faux marble embellishments.  She turned into a familiar narrow street expecting to see a row of Chinese shop-houses with their brightly -coloured facades and their windows filled with extraordinary goods and hand-painted signs in Malay, and Chinese characters, and, rarely, in English.  But it had all changed; now there were rows of multi-storey modern apartments.

Happily, there were still many rickshaws.  One of her fondest memories was of having an occasional rickshaw ride home from school but it was clear that today’s rickshaws were for tourists only.  The rickshaw drivers wore colourful outfits, suitable for the photographs of the tourists, unlike the loin cloths that drivers of Eliza’s childhood would have worn.

Eliza took a right-hand turn knowing that this narrow street would take her closer to the water and, if her memory was correct, to the Chou Family Jetty which was one of her favourite play-areas of those happy times.  She smelled the sea before she saw it and walked a little faster in anticipation of what she might find.

The jetty was certainly there but not as she remembered it.  It was run-down, almost derelict, with planks missing from the decking and no sign of the many sampans which used to be tied up along its length.  There were the remains of brightly-coloured wooden furniture which the inhabitants of this jetty would have used but, apart from another tourist or two looking vaguely about them, there was no evidence that this was once a thriving centre of life.

Eliza’s father had been a pilot with the RAAF and, for a time, had been stationed at the Butterworth Air Force Base on the mainland just opposite Penang Island.  Eliza’s mother had decided that the family would live in George Town on the island so that her children would have the experience of living in another culture rather than on the base with other ex-pats trying to replicate their Australian way of life in this foreign corner.  There was a bridge connecting the island to the mainland so there was no feeling of isolation.

It had been a culture shock for Eliza, six years old and having to cope with a new way of life.  It would have been harder if she had not been befriended on her first day at school by a skinny little Chinese girl with straight black hair worn in pigtails, and prominent teeth.  Her name was Li and she lived in one of the sampans tied up at the Chou family pier.  Eliza and Li explored every corner of the city she grew to love.  They had no fear of becoming lost and it was not unusual for them still to be wandering the streets when the moon was shining and the sky was filled with stars.  Nobody, in those days, imagined that anything would happen to two little girls on their own.

Eliza grew to love Penang Island and, especially, the city of George Town.  The native Malay people were almost outnumbered by the immigrant Chinese who had made this beautiful island their home.  The calm, peaceful manner of the indigenous Malays was complemented by the energy and vitality of the immigrant Chinese, forming a resourceful and harmonious community: a perfect place for a small Australian school-girl to begin her life.

Eliza had arranged to meet her school-friend, Li, and waited expectantly in the coffee shop.  It would be interesting to see what Li had become.  No doubt, the pigtails would have disappeared and, perhaps, the uneven teeth might have been straightened but nothing in Eliza’s imagination had prepared her for the elegant, sophisticated, beautifully-dressed young woman who stood before her.  Like her city, Li had been transformed.

Thursday, May 29

 I'm sick of watching middle-aged men on Youtube, taking pointless trips to out-of-the-way places in the hope of getting a few miserable viewers to watch them, adding to their headcount so they can scratch out a living. I think what spurred me to think again was watching Steve and Alijca on the Queen Mary, sailing to New York, and he never shaved once on the voyage.  What a scruff!  I wanted more so I opened a clip at random.  Success!  It was a dance troupe, what I think they call a Flash Mob, dancing to Gotye's Somebody That I Used to Know.

The dancers were dressed in ordinary clothes, albeit it a little eccentric.  Some of the men were even in suits.  And the dancing was quirky and immaculate.  I'll bookmark it (if I can work out how) to watch it again,

Flushed with success, I browsed further.  I noticed the name Barbara Dickson and I immediately recalled a tallish, blonde, Scottish soprano who used to sing on The Two Ronnies.  She had a hit song, a duet with Elaine Page called I Knew Him so Well.

In this clip she was dragged out of the audience by some nameless comedian and forced to sing the duet with him.  Again, brilliant!

I think I'm, on to a good thing.  

Wednesday. May 28

 There's an old Baptist tabernacle in the main street of Longford, unused except for a Funeral Director who had an office there.  A couple of years ago it was bought by the Tasmanian Farmers and Graziers Association and work started on changing it to become their headquarters.  Being nosy, our Probus Club invited itself to have a conducted tour of the premises and that took place this morning.  

It was interesting.  They employed proper Heritage Architects to plan the work and the result is great.  Our Probus President happens to be a retired Baptist Minister and was stationed there for a short time early in his ministry.  Other members remember attending a Youth Club there and others attended Sunday School.

Being an incomer, I had no connection to the place but even I could appreciate the historical; significance of the place and how pleasing it is that it still significant today.

Tuesday, May 27

I'm waiting for the phone to ring alerting me that Marilyn needs to be picked up.  She's gone to her Craft group leaving me to look after the house.  I have spend the time browsing the internet looking for interesting articles which don't involve Donald Trump, suggestions for TV shows to watch and recommendations for books I might get around to reading.  I've finished the Hamish Macbeth I was reading and moved on to John Grisham and I wonder how that will work out.

I'm expecting a call this week from Aged Care to arrange a visit so they can assess whether I might get some funding towards a lift chair. It's the next major purchase I'll need to make life easier so I've been practising getting in and out of my current armchair, very slowly with a pained expression on my face.  I don't want to overdo it but the reality is that it is getting harder every day to do things as simple as sitting and standing.  I can't complain, though.  Generally, life is wonderful and I wouldn't give it up for quids.

Monday, May 26

 We've woken up to a miserable day.  The sky is grey with low-lying clouds, the air is cold, and we've had rain overnight.  I can't think of any reason to go out although Marilyn is hinting that she might need something from the shop.

There is one thing we've been discussing which will necessitate a bit of research.  I've been finding it more and more difficult to get out of my comfortable chair in the loungeroom.  It's connected to my on-going back problem.  Since much of our world now revolves around our lounge-room and we spend more and more of our time sitting in our chairs, the problem is becoming more and more evident.

I've been putting off doing something about it but it's becoming clear that something will have to be done sooner or later.  There are chairs, of course, that have electric motors to shove you up on to your feet.  Smokey Dawson used to advertise them.  Several stores in Launceston sell them and you can buy them on-line from places like Kogan and even Temu.  They come with one motor or two but I don't understand the difference.

Anyway, Jamie has offered to take me to have a look.  It's a bugger getting old ... and expensive too.

Here's a little story I wrote in an attempt to produce a love story:

VICTORIAN LOVE STORY                                                               JULY 24, 2024

Beatrice straightened her pinafore, tugged at her pigtails and drew a big breath.  At 16, she needed to give some serious thought to marriage. Her mother often said as much, hinting broadly that her father could not be expected to continue feeding her forever.  The few pennies she brought in from helping old Miss Parsons with her chores around the house made very little difference to the family expenses and Father’s income had been reduced following his accident at the Squire’s colliery. 

She looked again at her reflection in the shabby, stained mirror which hung on a nail over the kitchen sink.  She didn’t think she was a particularly pretty girl but she knew that the boys of the village turned to look at her when she passed by.  Her mother would be ashamed if she knew that Beatrice often deliberately swayed her hips when she knew that the boys were watching.  Sometimes, she heard whistles from them and that gave her a sense of satisfaction.  She drew in a deep breath as she thought about that feeling of power.

Marriage?  What would that be like? Almost every adult in the village was married but the only marriage that Beatrice knew anything about was that of her parents.  Even though other girls at the village school giggled about what it meant to be married, Beatrice knew that it was just nonsense they were talking.  If she ever married herself, she hoped her husband would have more idea of the situation than the silly girls at school.  If her parents’ marriage was any guide, it seemed to be about the man going off to work to earn money, and the mother staying home to look after the house and the children.  It didn’t seem to be anything to giggle about.

When she told some of the other girls what she thought about marriage, they just laughed and she still didn’t understand why they were giggling.

Her steps had brought her to the little, stone hump-backed bridge over the Mill Stream. At this time of the year, after the recent rain, the stream was flowing strongly and Beatrice knew that the miller would be taking advantage of the flow to grind as much of the grain as he could.  Mr Miller worked hard but Mrs Miller seemed to spend most of her days visiting her many friends. Beatrice knew that the miller and his wife didn’t have any children and they were able to employ a maid and a girl to help around the house.

Beatrice could feel her heart leap in her chest as she noticed the figure on the bridge.  As she had hoped, James, the son of the Vicar of the little church in the village, was spending his afternoon fishing in the stream.  Any fish he caught would only be small but would be as welcome in the vicar’s house as any in the village.  A country parson’s stipend was tiny, and the small takings from the collection plate each Sunday reflected the relative poverty of his congregation.  When James turned a little and caught sight of Beatrice, his face lit up.  His voice, although he was clearly delighted to see her, gave no hint of the pleasure he felt.

“Hello, Beatrice. What brings you here?”

“Hello, James,” she replied. “It’s such a nice day, I thought I would take a walk to see whether there are any new ducklings on the river.  But I can see that none of the eggs have yet hatched.”

“I’ve had no luck with the fishing, either so I’m ready to set off for home.  Would you like to walk with me, you can say hello to my mother and father and there might be some fresh milk that we could share?”

“That would be lovely, James,” she replied.  “I hoped I might see you here and I was looking forward to seeing how many fish you had caught.”

James laughed. “I don’t come here to catch fish,” he said.  “I come to think and dream.”

Think and dream, Beatrice thought as they walked along together.  Occasionally, as they walked, their hands inadvertently brushed together and Beatrice was surprised at the feelings of pleasure each touch brought.  If I have to be married, she thought, I hope it will be to someone I like as much as I like James.  The next time their hands brushed, she impulsively grasped his fingers in hers and they walked on hand-in-hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sunday, May 25

 We're running a bit late this morning. It's not unusual for us to watch a Youtube video with breakfast and today's was a little longer than normal. It was, in fact, a couple of our favourites, Steve and Alicjia, on a cruise from London to New York; the whole nine-day voyage.  We could have broken it half-way through but it was particularly interesting so we watched it right through.

We're now waiting for the Coles man to arrive with our order.  He's sent a message that he's running thirty minutes late.  No matter!

I've just poked my nose out to check the weather.  The sun is shining, it's a beautiful day although the air is cold.  I think I'll aim for two walks today.

And here's the man in the red hat.  Only three little bags .. $80!

Saturday, May 24

 Archie had to go the vet yesterday and, because Jamie was busy, Marilyn and I took him to the local practice.  They've just moved into a purpose-built facility on the outskirts of town and it's a thriving business.  Archie loves going there, seeing the other dogs and, especially, one of the staff who is called Madi.

There was another, tiny, chihuaha in the waiting room and a couple of other, much larger, dogs as well. No cats.  Maybe cats are more hardy or their owners don't care as much.

It's raining today but we have no plans to go out.  We need some groceries but that's all done on the computer now.  It's better for a Coles employee to get wet than for us to make the trek to nearest supermarket.

I've been struggling to find something to read and, now that I have a new ereader, it's imperative that I do.  I'd get severely criticised if the flash new gadget sat on the desk being ignored.  Eventually, I stumbled on a series by MC Beaton, featuring a detective in the highlands of Scotland called Hamish Macbeth.  I've read them before but they are a very undemanding read and it doesn't matter if I 'lose the plot.'

Friday, May 23

 Winter has come to Longford and I didn't enjoy going out early to the chemist to pick up a prescription.  Our local chemist is just a little hole-in-the- wall place with 2 or 3 rows of shelves covered with the usual array of miracle cures.  This morning there were two pharmacists behind the counter and five other staff .. seven people to run a pharmacy in a small country town!  How do they keep themselves busy?

We have a cleaning lady here this morning so I'm keeping out of her way.  It's someone different from our usual person and I haven't picked up her name yet. I find it best to retreat to my desk and let them get on with it.

I'm running out of stories to post on this blog and I might have to start writing some more.  I can always find plenty of ideas for stories on the internet but it's motivation to write that's the problem.  With a cleaner fussing around behind me, this might be the perfect time to get busy.

I wrote today's story as an exercise, with a prompt I found on the internet,

Write a story about two people who meet at a wedding.

IS MARRIAGE CATCHING?

When I told my father I had been invited to a wedding, he nodded wisely and said, "Get used to it, son.  You’ll be invited to a lot more over the next couple of years and then, all of a sudden, there will be no more invitations.”  I thought this was quite perceptive until I understood the reality: it’s a generational thing.  It’s people of my age now who are getting married and when they’re all fixed up, there will be no more until the next generation, apart from the odd second-go-round.

There was, of course, the matter of a gift.  It was my cousin who was finally marrying his long-term girl-friend and they had suggested the most convenient way to approach this was to go into the local Myer store and view their Marriage Register.  I’d never heard of such a thing but I wandered in one day and spoke to the first girl I noticed who was dressed in the customary black skirt and white blouse.

“Oh, I don’t work here,” she said. I’ve just popped in during my lunch break to pick out a gift for a girl I used to go to school with.  Come with me and I’ll show you the ropes.”

Quite chuffed about how things had turned out, I followed her as she hurried in to the Homewares Department.  Confidently, she approached the stern-looking woman who stood behind the tiny counter.

“We’d like to see the Gift Register for the Brown/Atkinson wedding, please,”

“Certainly,” was the surprisingly pleasant reply.   The woman felt around under the counter and retrieved a slim folder with Brown/Atkinson in large letters on the front.  Inside there seemed to be several lists under various headings.  Several of the listed items had hand-written names beside them and I assumed these had already been ‘taken’ by other gift-givers.

I took a closer look and was pleased to see that each item had a price attached, ranging from 2 coffee mugs at $12 to a Spode dinner set, $465.  I wasn’t sure how much it was appropriate to spend but finally settled on 6 crystal champagne flutes at $52.  I was interested in what my erstwhile companion would buy but she brusquely sent me on my way.

“It was nice to meet you,” she said and pointedly waited until I had left before she turned again to the gift selection.

I thought about her again in the weeks leading up to the wedding.  She really was extremely pretty and I could still remember the floral scent of her perfume.  Did she have a boyfriend I wondered, and would she bring him to the wedding?  I was surprised how my attitude to the wedding had changed. Prior to the gift selection experience, I had regarded it as just something I needed to attend, but since meeting Alicia, I found myself looking forward to the event, knowing I would see her again.

It was raining on the day of the wedding and I have no doubt there were tears from the bride-to-be when she looked out at the grey skies,  However, the show must go on, as they say.  I arrived at the church a little early and was given a seat about half-way down.  “Are you here for the bride or the groom?” an usher had asked gruffly and pointed to a space for me to occupy.  I looked around for Alicia; I couldn’t see her at first and was surprised at my rush of pleasure when she walked in, taking a seat on the other side of the church.

I don’t want to make too much of it, but, when the gifts were being opened, there were two groups of champagne flutes.  I found Alicia standing beside me and I asked. “Did you …?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Knowing how much they enjoy entertaining, I thought a dozen flutes would be more useful.”

I don’t know why that admission gave me such a good feeling.  It still surprises me years later even though we are now celebrating our fortieth wedding anniversary.

Thursday, May 22

 I promise this will be the last time I mention recycling but I couldn't resist drawing a line under the whole issue, especially as this latest piece of news vindicates me and proves that I was right all along.  Bertine rang the council to ask how they could identify which unit owned the delinquent bin.  The shame-faced officer she spoke to admitted they couldn't identify the actual culprit so sent a letter to every unit to make sure the message reached the right person.  Ha!  I knew it!

Winter has reached Tasmania for this year and the weather bureau is predicting the first major snowfall of the season on the Tiers just above us.  Marilyn and spent some time yesterday putting all our outdoor potplants under shelter to protect them from frost and there's not much more we can do.  I have brought our birdbath back indoors in case it gets damaged. The birds will just have to make do without it until September.  It's a very nice piece of pottery and we'd hate to lose it.  The water in it had already frozen when I brought it in so it was time.

Jamie had booked my car in this morning for a wheel rotation at a local dealer but realised we still had a voucher from the Launceston place where I bought the last set so I'm pleased not to be going out in the cold.  I'll get an appointment next week when it might be warmer.

The Coles' man has just arrived with our order and Archie is having hysterics so I had better leave it here.

Wednesday, May 21

 I bumped into Bertine from Unit 5 yesterday and she complained to me that she had received a letter from the council saying that they had noticed contamination in her recycling bin. Oh-ho!  I've started to think about this and have formulated another theory.

So, there's a camera on the truck scanning all the stuff that is being collected.  But there are five bins outside Number 40 Burghley Avenue; how does it tell them apart?  Yes, I have a label saying number 2 on my bin and I presume the camera can pick that up.  Is it just a coincidence that Bertine's bin was contaminated the same week as ours? Not likely, if you knew Bertine!

I'm also aware that Rhys from Unit 3 doesn't have a number on his bin so my preferred scenario is this: Rhys's bin was contaminated, the camera picked it up but couldn't identify which unit was delinquent, so the Council sent a letter to every unit to make sure the message was received by the culprit.  The rest of us were just collateral damage.

I feel better now.

Tuesday, 20 May 2025

 I spent a half-hour yesterday musing about what might have been if a particular decision had not been made in late-February, 1951 at Corrimal Primary School.  At that time the headmaster of the school decided that I didn't fit into the class where I had been placed (I think it was Year 2) and 'promoted' me to Year 3.  Maybe I was too tall, although I remember there were a couple of tall Dutch kids who towered over me and they stayed where they were.  I like to think it was because I could read well for my age.  After all, I had a couple of years of the Scottish education system under my belt and that was regarded as the best in the world.

I did all right in primary school although I was younger than most of the other kids but the troubles started in High School where I found that being among the youngest students was no advantage.  I left school in 1959 with a scholarship to study at Wagga Teachers' College, and the marks to get me into university but there was no way I had the maturity to take up either of those options.

So I ended up at Hills Buses.  I often think how my life might have been different if it had been decided to keep me in Grade 2 at Corrimal Primary.  But, I suppose it's turned out all right.

Monday, May 19

Nera has arrived back from her trip to the Philippines.  She left Manila yesterday morning, arrived in Melbourne after midnight and flies into Launceston this morning.  She has reported her mother's health is much better.  I know Jamie will be delighted that she is back.  There's no fun in being a short-term bachelor.

 Marily has a couple of engagements today.  First there is the Craft group, which she quite enjoys and that segues into a game of Bingo with lots of prizes which are mainly donated grocery items.  I enjoy the house to myself until I hear the phone ring to tell me is ready to come home.

The only thing I have planned for today is to finalise an order from Temu.  There are a couple of things I want and, with a bit of imagination, I can easily bring it up to the minimum of $50.  I haven't had an order for a while so this is a real treat.

Today's story is Faces in the Street.  I seem to have two stories with the same name and I note that one has been posted before.  But which one?  I hope this is the other one.

FACES IN THE STREET 

Evolutionists tell us that the most successful members of the animal kingdom are those who can live and work together cooperatively.  Animals which can work as a team in hunting their prey bring home more food for their young.  Huge swarms of fish might attract predators but the very size of the shoal and the sheer number of individuals in their group means there is a better chance that an individual fish will live to swim another day.  Even something as simple as animals being able to huddle together for warmth in cold weather might mean the difference between life and death.

Historians tell us that it is our innate ability to live cooperatively which has made the human race so successful in populating the world.  We are able to work together to solve problems, create innovation, plan huge development projects and, of course wage wars. There is no doubt, we are very good at working together with colleagues to get things done.  But what about the others, the ones we don’t know intimately or even casually, the strangers, the men and women behind the faces in the street?

We hardly notice them, do we, those faces in the street, as we walk along?  We keep our own faces looking vaguely downward, our gaze averted, our eyes hooded as if we are fearful of being recognised.  Are we frightened to draw attention to ourselves?   Is there safety in anonymity? 

Why are we like this, so ashamed to look our fellow-citizens in the eye?  Our mothers warned us not to talk to strangers, but is that enough to explain our antipathy to those who are not part of our circle of friendship?  Is shyness a factor or is it the result of the stress of living in our high-powered, dog-eat-dog society?

Maybe we’re frightened that the infection which stalks the streets of the US will come to us here in our little city on the edge of the world - 197 gun deaths in St Louis, Missouri last year.  What effect would something like that have here in Launceston?  I remember the movie quote, “You talkin’ to me?”, fair warning that to make eye contact, let alone initiate a conversation can have dire consequences.  It certainly doesn’t pay to take chances.

We’ve all met those well-meaning individuals who go out of their way to be friends with everyone, the ones who have unrealistic expectations that a stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet, who actually say things like that and are surprised when you look at them as if they are mad.

I’ve occasionally thought that I should institute a new approach to co-existing with my fellow-man.  No longer would I hide myself in a cloak of anonymity, afraid to make eye contact in case someone takes my fleeting glance as an invitation to start a conversation.  I’d be ready to embrace new friendships, believing that most people are basically good and kind, and anxious to become another part of my friendship circle.

But, of course, that’s not how the world works.  Man is a co-operative animal, it’s true, but he’s also a tribal one.  Innately, we believe in ‘them’ and ‘us’.  ‘Us’ are the people in our family and immediate circle, ‘them’ is everybody else, the faces in the street, if you like.  Behind their blank expressions, we can’t know what anxieties and fears and distresses they are dealing with.  When talking about serial killers after they have been found out, their neighbours always say, “He seemed such a nice man – quiet, kept to himself but the sort who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” But, they didn’t know him; he wasn’t one of ‘us’.

I think evolution has served us well.  We have evolved from the basic family group of hunter-gatherers to small bands of cave dwellers to clans and tribes, still linked by family and customs, to village-dwellers and townsfolk, to city dwellers.  Through all of this, we have kept our innate suspicion of the stranger, the unknown face in the street.  This reserved attitude has served us well and we would be foolish to abandon it too quickly.

Sunday, May 18

 We don't get much mail in our letterbox nowadays.  In fact, I think the number of letters has dropped off so much in recent years that the postie doesn't come every day.  I have no proof of this but I can't remember the last time I had a letter on a Thursday.  Perhaps I should take note of when mail comes; make a chart with the days of the week across the top and note in the columns how many letters come in.

Most of the mail I get is official: reminders that my registration is due, that my insurance has gone up (again), that I have an appointment with some other government department or other.  There was a lot of junk mail every day during the recent election but I don't count that.

Yesterday, there was an official looking envelope from the council.  Inside was a letter accusing me of putting contaminated material in the FOGO bin.  'The bin is only for clean biodegradable materials' it sternly reminded me and included an information sheet 'showing what is acceptable.  What a cheek!

I've seen the bins being collected.  The truck picks each one up and drops the contents into the container on the back where everything gets mixed together.  How can they identify what stuff comes from our house and not from next door?

Oh, the note says the 'Contractor has conducted an audit ... and has identified that your bin has been identified as contaminated'.  What a cheek!  Did a little man in a dustcoat come along with a torch and a clipboard, peering into the bins and making notes?  And how do they know the contamination didn't come from some random passer-by cleaning up after his dog and dropping the dirty tissue in the nearest bin, ignoring the colour of the lid?

Anyway, once I get over my outrage, I will read the Information Sheet and try to do better in future.  

Saturday, May 17

 It's quiet here today.  Brendan has gone off to meet a mate and spend the day at the Launceston Gorge which gives Marilyn and me the house to ourselves ... just the way we like it.  We're expecting a Coles' order to arrive shortly but that might be the most exciting experience we have all day.  I;'m still playing with my new Kobo reader, working out how to load new books on to it. It's not like the old one where I simply dragged the books from one device to another.  With this new model, I have to download the books from the external drive to the computer desktop, eject that drive, plug in the Kobo and drag and drop the books to that.  It won't work if both devices are plugged in at the same time.

It's all a learning experience.  

My reading tastes have changed too.  I no longer enjoy lengthy, highly-detailed thrillers.  Instead, I'm reading shorter books with less complicated plots.  At the moment I'm reading MC Beaton and Alexander McCall-Smith.  If I lose the thread of the plot between one reading session and another it doesn't matter.  I can't stand re-reading to get back on track.

Friday, 16 May

We've had Nera's nephew, Brendan, staying with us for a few days.  Nera is in the Philippines and Jamie needed a break from a teenage boy in the house. Brendan is studying here in Launceston and has made a friend of a Nepalese boy doing the same course.  Today, they're heading to Hobart to check out some of the sights: Mona, Salamanca Place, and so on.

I'm taking Marilyn for an appointment with the eye specialist.  She's had a couple of sessions and today is just a check-up that everything is fine.  Since the procedures she tells me she has never see better.  Maybe I should have a think about letting them have a go at me.

One time, at my Writing course, I was asked to produce something on the theme No Turning Back.  I dug out a poem I had written ages ago and re-worked it. Here it is:

NO TURNING BACK                                                     APRIL 29, 2022                                                           

When your days of toil are over and it’s time to take a break
There are options to consider and decisions you must make
For years you’ve spent each waking hour in trying to earn a crust
And now you’ve got to fill your days or your brain will start to rust.

Perhaps it’s time to take up bowls or join a cycling club
Or learn to play the oboe, or take refuge in the pub
Some take delight in reading books or watching DVDs
But I’m sure you’ll find you’ll soon get tired of nothing more than these.

Some folks take up cruising on the ocean wide and blue
And you might think that could be fun but it might be boring too
Some learn to use the internet, work out the family tree
Others think it’s pretty smart to get one more degree.

Your house is worth a million and that’s a tidy sum
And you know the kids have worked it out, although they’re playing dumb
The grand-kids talk of Disneyland when Nan and Pop are dead
You’re worth more to them when you’re gone, a truth that must be said.

Each time they come to visit you, only once in a blue moon
You can see the dollar signs in their eyes and they think, Will it be soon?
They look at you to calculate how long you might survive
Yes, how much longer will you live, when you’re only sixty-five.

You know there’s just one answer to make your last years fun
Sell the house, buy a ‘van and let the good times run
Join the Nomad army, grab freedom on the road
No more wasted afternoons, no lawns to be mowed.

With your Cruiser and your Jayco, your days will be your own
You can drive or you can sit around, your worries will have flown
You can feel the joys of this brown land and see what you can see
With new-made friends to pass the time and fill the hours with glee.

Live life as it was meant to be, with countless things to do
With every day a new delight and a new adventure too
There’s lots in this great country to make us shout and cheer
So pack your bags, hitch up the van - it’s off for another year.

There’s just one thing I need to say to emphasise this notion

Point your ‘van and do your best to reach the Indian Ocean

It won’t be highways all the way, some roads will be a track

Just set your course, trust to luck, and remember - no turning back.

Sunday, May 11

 Sunday morning, traditionally, is the time when I sort out my medications for the forthcoming week.  I kept the little packets in a handy box and, on Sunday morning, counted out the individual pills into plastic containers marked with the day of the week when they would be taken.  A couple of weeks ago I decided to get the pharmacy to provide me with a webster pack so I no longer have to sort out my own tablets.

I'm at a bit of a loose end now so I have to look for something else to fill the time between my getting up (7 o'clock) and Marilyn emerging (usually around 8.45).  Youtube is my usual standby.  I like to follow Scott and Steve on their travels and, sometimes, Noel, although he can be a bit of a pain sometimes.  Emma is a solo cruiser and there are one or two others I enjoy.

This morning, I fancied some music and found a clip of David Tennant singing 500 Miles and a clip of a Flash mob performing to Somebody That I Used to Know.

All good stuff!

Saturday, May 10

I had a message that the doctor was going to ring me this morning about some medications.  No time was mentioned; he would fit it in between patients.  The phone rang but it was Jamie to say the doctor had rung him by mistake.  Nothing else happened so I rang the surgery, told the receptionist the situation and that I was waiting for his call.

"It might be half an hour," she said, "There's someone in the waiting room."

Typical!  When I'm in the waiting room, people on the phone get priority and when I'm on the phone, it's the other way around.  I'm nor paranoid but I think I'm being discriminated against.

Thursday, May 8

 In case you're wondering the outcome of my Amazon dilemma on Tuesday. two parcels were delivered on Wednesday. We had gone out to the shop and came back to find the two parcels sitting on the mat.

I used to be an avid follower of Q&A but haven't watched it for years.  However, a link appeared on Youtube this morning and I decided to see what the pundits had to say about the election.  There were the same old faces: Patricia Karvelas, who now runs it, George Brandis, Tony Burke and Bridget Mackenzie, even Paul Kelly who must be older than God. . It's reassuring that the world hasn't changed as much as I had thought.

It was a delight to watch the show again so I might make it a habit.

Tuesday, May 6

 I know I tend to become a little confused more often these days but sometimes it's due to circumstances outside my control.  Yesterday evening we were relaxing in our chairs, both reading, when my phone dinged.  It was a message, dated 5 May, 2025 and timed at 6.57pm, from Amazon ' "Your parcel will be delivered today."

What am I to make of this?  Yes, I have an Amazon order pending but it's not due until May 17.  When they say 'today', do they mean that the parcel will arrive in the dark, or are they just getting tomorrow's notifications in early?

We waited patiently but there was no ring of the doorbell, nor sound of delivery van in the driveway so we went to bed.

However, as I type this on Tuesday morning, May 6, there is another ding on my phone - another notification from Amazon that my order will be delivered today - but it's for a different item!.  I remain confused

Monday, May 5

 So, the election ended, not with a bang but a whimper., and we can now get on with our lives while they get on with theirs.

I've started to re-read a series of books by Camila Lackberg, a Swedish author.  The first one is The Ice Princess and it introduces a theme which I had forgotten: whenever the characters have a coffee break, they enjoy a cinnamon bun.  On our last few trips to the Philippines, we discovered a chain of coffee shops call Cinnabon, and I really enjoyed their buns.

Now I discover the chain has moved into Australia and they can be found in various Westfield centres in Sydney and Melbourne and I can't wait until they arrive in Tasmania.  It might be a long wait.

Today's story is one of the first ones I wrote for the Writing Group.  It's called The Coffee Break but there's not a cinnamon bun in sight.

THE COFFEE BREAK                                                                                         26 JUNE 2020

“What do you mean, you want a break?”  Jane couldn’t keep the venomous tone out of her voice.  The situation had been coming to a head over the past couple of weeks and, eventually, her anxiety had spilled over during the coffee break when all she needed was a chance to cool down and plan a way forward.

 Jane still could not believe her good fortune in getting this job at the glitzy new tech. start-up.  The workplace had all the clichés of the genre: open-plan offices, chill-out corners, segways to move around with, unlimited ice-cream and coca cola, and laid-back but inspiring speeches from the two blonde teenagers who had devised the software which under-pinned the enterprise.

With all of this modern approach, the traditional coffee break was still Jane’s favourite part of the day.  For some reason, the room where some of the employees met for coffee was very much of a different era.  There was an old-fashioned urn, belching steam until someone turned it down, the chairs were a motley collection of rejects left behind by previous tenants, and the tables were scarred like old warriors, holding onto their usefulness to the last. 

It was here that Jane had first met Bradley, still a young man but one who chose to hide his youth under clothes he might have inherited from his father: corduroy trousers, collared shirt and tatty unbuttoned cardigan.  Jane couldn’t help wondering whether it was his air of rumpled lack of assurance which had sparked a maternal instinct in her.  For a few weeks, they had chatted over coffee, made tentative approaches to find out about each other and even attempted a date or two.  Nobody could say it was a whirlwind romance but Jane was comfortable that it was progressing appropriately and she was even considering when might be the best time to suggest she take Bradley along to meet her mother and father.

But now, here he was telling her it was all going too fast and he wanted a break.  Thinking back, she realised there had been hints that all was not well.  Bradley was not as regular an attender at the coffee breaks as he had once been.  He had shown reluctance to meet her after work on a few occasions and, when she invited him to go with her to a girl-friend’s wedding, he had hastily dredged up a prior engagement.  She called it ‘dredged up’ because, looking back, his excuse didn’t have the ring of truth.

Now she was faced with his woebegone expression and plea for a break.  A break, for goodness sake!  You take a break from something which is not particularly pleasant, like weeding the garden, or cleaning the shed.  You don’t take a break from a relationship unless the relationship is starting to become a chore, or the other party in the relationship is no longer the focus of your life.

“Fine!” said Jane, “Take a break, sort yourself out, and ring me when you’ve got your head together.  Or not!”  Jane stormed out of the coffee room, leaving Bradley and the other employees standing with their mouths open.  It was only later she realised that her grand gesture of storming out meant that she could no longer go back, with any dignity.

That afternoon, she resigned from her job at the start-up and applied for a position at the bank where she hoped she would meet eligible men who were a little more serious about their future.

Saturday, May 3

 Election Day and why am I not excited? Surely, I should be full of delight at the chance to once more show my support for one of the outstanding men and women who sacrifice their all for the benefit of the Australian community.  I can't help thinking of Bob Ellis who wrote about the shysters, con-men and assorted ninnies who offer their services as politicians.  I wish I could find the full quote but I can't.  Our choice here, like everywhere else, is to vote for one of the major parties or one of the handful of 'independents' who've tossed their hats in the ring.  It's a not-very-inspiring choice.  

Marilyn is disappointed that she's not working at one of the booth this year.  She's been involved in many of the recent elections and has really enjoyed it but decided this year to retire.

I'm reading an Agatha Christie novel at the moment and was intrigued when Poirot said, 'Ne vous fachez pas!'  It means, in English, 'Don't upset yourself'.  I remember Mum saying 'Don't fash yourself' if we were getting agitated and I didn't realise she was speaking French.

Friday, May 2, 2025

 I took Marilyn on to the Eye Hospital this morning to have yesterday's procedure looked at. All is fine and she can continue on as if nothing had happened.  She was surprised to discover that they had inserted a lens into her eye to improve her vision.  Isn't moder medicine marvellous?  

We were just home again when the 'phone rang. Jamie was having a busy day and would we like to have Archie for a visit?  So, back in the car and off to Hadspen to pick him up.

I've downloaded several versions of the Leonard Cohen song, Hallelujah and play it in the car.  It's a brilliant song and every version is different.  I particularly like one which features bagpipes.  That's probably tells you something about me, but I'm not sure what

Today's story, Genevieve, is based on a real person I knew at Gib Gate school. I've strongly enhanced it, of course.

GENEVIEVE                                                                                         JUNE, 2021

“What’s in a name?” Shakespeare asked but I often wonder what’s in the mind of some parents when they come up with a name which will be an affliction on that child until he or she is old enough to change it.  I think of myself as a traditionalist and find myself warming immediately to people called James or Andrew, Anne or Elizabeth.  I’m wary of anyone with one of the more bizarre trendy names or those whose name seems to be made up.

I’ve watched the changing fashions of children’s names and I’ve read that they can often be tracked and linked to popular TV shows.  I happened to be looking at a cartoon strip in The Guardian recently and stumbled across a Pavlova and a Kiasportage: joke names obviously but could they catch on? I’ve laughed with others at the so-called celebrity names, such as Moon Unit, Sunday Rose or Heavenly Hiirani Tiger Lily.   If I had to summarise my preferences I would say that I like names as ordinary as Jack and as plain as Jane.  I’m undecided how I feel about Lilibet.

In a past life, I was Headmaster of a fairly posh primary school in the Southern Highlands of NSW.  There I was mostly faced with solid, middle-class names, the sort you would expect from solid, middle-class parents.  There was one boy named Robert whose family insisted he be called Robbie, but I was confident he would grow out of that before he started High School.

One day, my secretary popped her head around the door to tell me I had an appointment with some prospective parents who wanted to enrol their daughter. “It’s a funny name,” my secretary said. “I asked them to spell it.” 

She handed me a slip of paper on which was printed G.E.N.E.V.I.E.V.E.

“That’s Genevieve,” I said.

“Well, that’s not what they said,” was the terse reply.

Mr and Mrs O’Reilly duly arrived and introduced their daughter.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Our daughter has a French name, and it is pronounced in the French way - Jhon-vee-ev,” said Mrs O’Reilly firmly.  Well, that was fine but I wondered what the other girls in the class would make of it.

“Well, I’m sure that Jhon-vee-ev will enjoy her time with us,” I said and, after the usual preliminaries, I took them down to the classroom to meet Genevieve’s new teacher.  The teacher’s name was Jacqueline, called Jacki, but I suspected she secretly yearned for a French emphasis: Zhackwilin - said breathily in the back of the throat. I knew that Genevieve would be safe here.

Everything worked out well.  Genevieve settled into our routine and made friends quickly.  Mother came in a couple of times to complain. Once that a boy in the class had asked Genevieve if she was named after a car; his parents were obviously fans of old Kenneth More comedies.  Another time she was upset that some of the girls had taken to calling her daughter Zhonny which I thought was a reasonably sympathetic abbreviation of a rather clumsy name, but I wasn’t game to say it.

I often wondered why, with a surname such as O’Reilly, the parents looked to the French for a forename.  It’s like matching Irish Stew with foie gras.  Surely, there are plenty of pretty Irish names which would be more suitable.  I can think of several just off the top of my head: Roisin, Siobhan, Aisling, for example.

As well, I wonder if the parents thought through the implications of saddling their child with the burden of such a name.  I say ‘parents’ though I suspect the mother had a controlling hand in this decision.  In my experience, children only want to fit in, to be accepted as part of the group and not be seen as somehow different.

When Mrs O’Reilly said, “My daughter’s name is Genevieve,” my first instinct was to ask her why, but I smothered that question quickly.

There’s a postscript to this anecdote.   Just the other day I was reading an article about a new Australian movie called The Dry.  I was interested because I had read the book on which it is based.  Glancing over the article, I spotted a familiar name among the list of actors: Genevieve O’Reilly.  It said she was also in Star Wars.  Could it be?  Surely not, but what are the odds of two people having that name?