Monday, September 9

 We're waiting for the big truck to arrive with our new washing machine.  Because our laundry is in the garage, I've had to move the car out so that the blokes can wheel their trolley in.  They've also agreed to take the old machine away.  I met Bertine from Number 5 at the supermarket yesterday and told her that our machine had blown up just like hers did the previous week.  She asked whether we had bought a Bosch which she believed would last longer than other brands.

"Don't be silly, dear," her friend commented. "It doesn't have to last a long time; it only has to see them out."

That's what I think, too.

The topic for today's story was 'On the Beach', inspired, no doubt by the 1959 movie starring Gregory Peck..

ON THE BEACH                                                                                                       MAY 16, 2024

 It was the harsh sound of birds which woke him.  He slowly opened his eyes, feeling the lashes reluctantly parting and immediately closed them again as the bright rays of the sun struck his retina.  He tried again, shading his eyes from the worst of the sun, trying to make sense of the situation in which he found himself.

He was on a beach, that was clear, and the sun was coming from across the water so he was on the east coast of somewhere.  He couldn’t think where that was.  He struggled to sit up, taking stock of his situation.  Nothing was broken, he decided but there was a gash on his left leg, not bleeding, thankfully, and, as he looked more closely, he noted several other lacerations.  Even though the sun was shining, he was very cold and he was soaking wet.  What on earth had happened to him?

He became aware of a splitting headache and, feeling his skull gingerly, found several bumps he couldn’t remember from before.  Before?  When was before?  Before what?  What had happened to him to put him into this predicament? 

His survival instinct kicked in and he painfully scrambled to his knees and attempted to stand up.  Whoops!  It was not as easy as he had thought and he sank back.  Take it slowly, he reminded himself, took a deep breath and rolled over on to his knees.  I’ll be right in a minute, he promised himself, waited until the dizziness had passed and tried again to stand.

This time he was more successful and he managed a few steps before he fell back on to the sand.   I need a walking stick, he thought, looked around and noticed a length of salt-bleached driftwood maybe 50 metres away.  That might do it.  Laboriously, he began to crawl towards it.  It was too painful and he noticed that both of his knees were covered with lacerations.  What on earth had happened to him?  The easiest way for him to move was to sit on his bottom, use his hands to push himself up, extend his legs and flop back down on to his bottom again.  In this way, moving backwards, he could cover 40 or 50 centimetres at a time.  It wasn’t much, but at least he was making some progress.

After a dozen or so attempts, he found himself in some sort of rhythm and was making reasonable progress.  The stick he was aiming for was still far out of his reach but at least it was becoming measurably closer.  He paused for breath and gave his attention to trying to make sense of his situation.  It was morning, that was clear, but why was he here on this beach and not in his bed at home?

Vaguely, a memory impinged on his consciousness.  There was a girl and they were sitting together at a small round table.  There were two drinks on the table, one in front of each of them.  I remember, he thought, her name was Sandy or Sandra, something like that and she was a friend of what’s-er-name, Craig’s new girlfriend.  That’s right, Craig had arranged that they were going to meet these two girls at the Dolphin Hotel in Coogee.  Craig thought it would be romantic to walk along the beach in the evening and watch the moon coming up over the water.

But this wasn’t Coogee Beach.  Surely, even at this time in the morning, there would be people around, if it were Coogee Beach.  This was deserted.  He stopped his painful progress towards the piece of driftwood and held his head in his hands.  He remembered a car and girls laughing excitedly about going for a drive.  He had had a few drinks and everything felt like an adventure so he had agreed with the idea.  One of the girls drove because he and Craig were sure they were both over the limit.  He had no idea how long they had driven but they had clearly ended up at this very lonely beach.

Had one of the girls suggested a swim?  Yes, that sounded right and he vaguely remembered putting his wallet in the glove box of the car for safe-keeping.  He had just been paid and he probably had three or four hundred dollars in it.  He stopped as the realisation came to him that he had been robbed – set up like a mug and robbed.

He became aware of a voice calling and realised it was Craig, walking across the sand towards him.  Am I rescued, he wondered, or are we both lost?

Oh, well, he thought, this will be a tale to tell my grandchildren. How their grand-dad fell for the charms of a pretty girl and ended up beached.

 

Sunday, September 9

I've tried three times to write this little paragraph and been interrupted each time.  The last interruption was Jamie and Nera dropping in to give Marilyn some nice bits of clothing that she'd never worn.  Nera likes designer pieces so today's selection had names like Chanel and so on.  Marilyn was delighted. And now she has asked me to 'pop up' to the shops so I'll have to leave it there.  I might come back later.

Saturday, September 7

 A Harvey Norman truck drove in the other day to deliver a new washing machine to Bertine in Unit 5.  She came around later to talk about how she had to replace her machine but the first one they delivered was faulty and they had to replace it. It turned out that her original machine, the one that blew up, was the same brand as ours which we bought when we moved to Dilston in 2012.  

You guessed it; our washing machine also refused to work yesterday so we're off to The Good Guys to buy another.  I don't like shopping at Harvey Norman; Gerry Harvey is rich enough without my little contribution.  Jamie is here to de-install the old one and get rid of it.

At last, we're having a bit of warm weather.  Today is a cracker.

Friday, September 6

It's a miserable day today: grey and drizzly.  The cleaning lady will arrive sometime soon and my job is to strip the bed so she can change the sheets.  Marilyn put the dirty linen in the washing machine and we sat down to have breakfast.  And the microwave wouldn't work!  When I checked the washing, it had stopped too.  It seems the two machines are on the same circuit and we've never noticed.  It's all too hard!

The local Facebook page was full of forlorn residents asking whether anyone else was having power problems but I don't get involved in those group whinges.  

There's a bird chirping away outside; I think it's our lovelorn blackbird still advertising for a mate, Good  luck to him.

There's nothing planned for today so we'll probably read, watch something on Youtube and drink too many cups of coffee. Life gets tedious, don't it?  Maybe we need a change of scene.

CHANGE OF SCENE                                                                                   OCTOBER 29, 2021

“What you need is a change of scene,” the doctor pronounced, with all the authority that 40 years in the business had conferred.  I wondered whether any of his confidently-asserted diagnoses had ever been questioned because there was never any shred of doubt in his voice, no sense that his advice might be less than satisfactory.  But, who was I to suggest that the twelve-minute consultation he was allowed under Medicare was hardly long enough to get to the bottom of the lethargy and lassitude I had been feeling for the past few months?

 This was not the first time I had consulted this particular doctor for this particular disorder.  He had at first confidently prescribed anti-depressants but I might as well have been taking lollies for all the good they did.  “We’ll try something stronger,” he said and I spent the next few weeks in a semi-comatose state.

 “Hmm!” he murmured. “Have you tried exercise?  A brisk walk twice a day often works in this sort of situation.”  I tried, faithfully, for a couple of days but then the winter rains set in and the streets were too flooded and slippery for me to walk safely.  “Join a gymnasium,” he advised, breezily and I duly fronted up to my local gym and joined the “Middle Years Marchers” group.  Who comes up with these names?  The group was almost exclusively female, silver-haired and desperate for companionship.  As a new member, I became ‘flavour of the month’ and, sadly, was not able to cope with the unwonted attention.

 Finally, my long-suffering doctor suggested talking to his brother-in-law who was a psychologist but the waiting list for a consultation stretched far into the future.  “In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing,” was the advice.  What I was doing was staying in bed until mid-morning, watching TV all afternoon, drinking too much, and falling into bed after midnight.

 A change of scene?  Maybe a holiday would help.  Now that the COVID restrictions were being lifted, I had a few options to work with.  New Zealand might be a possibility but it’s a bit staid and I craved something a little more exciting.  Bali?  No, I wouldn’t feel safe there.  Queensland’s always good.  At least the sun is likely to be shining and the Premier, Anastasia, is talking it up.

 I can fly to Brisbane direct from here, check into a reasonable hotel, spend some time on the Gold Coast and investigate what Joh Bjelke-Petersen used to call the flesh-pots.  I can’t wait; thinking about this holiday is the best I’ve felt for ages.  Maybe the doctor is right, after all.

There was no problem getting a seat on the plane and I had my choice of luxury hotels to choose from.  The direction to wear a mask was a bit difficult but having the bottom half of my face covered took years off my age and that could only be a good thing.  I was starting to become more than a little excited by my projected holiday.

 I had a good flight, the crew were attentive and didn’t object to the few beers I enjoyed.  As the plane came into land, I felt just a little under the weather but I put that down to Altitude Sickness.  I had been reading about Edmund Hillary on Mt Everest and he had suffered from Altitude Sickness and I had been a lot higher than him.  That little stumble on the steps down from the plane meant nothing. 

I had another beer, and a little something stronger, while I was waiting for my luggage to come around the carousel and stood patiently outside for a taxi.  I couldn’t wait to get to my luxury hotel and start to enjoy my change of scene.

The façade of the hotel was Queensland glitzy.  I had stayed in good hotels in other cities in the world but Brisbane hotels had a touch of Las Vegas about them that I hadn’t experienced elsewhere (except in Las Vegas, of course.) I stifled a little giggle.  It wouldn’t do to let people think that I was slightly drunk, and maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have had a few beers on top of my anti-depressants.

The young woman behind the reception desk said, frostily, “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t process your booking at the moment.  If you would take a seat, I’ll speak to my manager and he will be with you shortly.”

I couldn’t believe it, but sat down to hear the reason why I couldn’t book in.  An officious-looking middle-aged man came over to me and told me that the hotel’s policy was that they would not register any customers who were clearly intoxicated.

“Intoxicated?”  I bellowed.  Perhaps I should have kept my voice down because the next thing I know a couple of policemen had taken me by the arms and were hustling me out the door and into a police wagon.  So, now I am sitting on this hard bench in a Brisbane Police Station waiting to hear whether I will be charged with Disturbing the Peace.  And, I’m sure this is not the change of scene my precious doctor was talking about.

Thursday, September 5

I mentioned that Jamie and Nera were flying to Melbourne last week to pick up a Tesla.  Well, it never happened.  It became very complicated: the car they were interested in belonged to a company who had leased it to a fellow who is currently in Dubai.  He would have to fly back to Australia to sign it back to the lease company (why?)  but, in the meantime, Jamie was doing some research on the costs of owning this new technology, and it didn't add up. Apart from that, who wants to be associated with someone like Elon Musk?

So, they aborted the idea and are now looking closer to home (and not for a Tesla!)

Wednesday, September 4. 2024

I neglected to write an anecdote yesterday; I had no excuse as Marilyn was out all morning and I had nothing else to do; however, whatever else I found to do took up all my time.  

Marilyn spoke to her sister this morning and, apparently, Tasmania's weather woes are being shown on the national news.  I suppose it's better to be famous for your weather than not to be famous at all.  The good news is that Spring is upon us and things can only get better.  There was a solitary blackbird on the fence opposite this morning, singing his heart out.  He seems to think it's mating season.  I have a soft spot for blackbirds and look forward to seeing them about and, of course, hearing their call.  Extra settlers to Tasmania were nostalgic for their call and those who could afford it paid to have them imported  from Britain.  Captain Langdon brought in a shipment of dogs and birds, including blackbirds in 1827 and a Mr Muston brought in a pair in 1834.

They thrived in Tasmania and, by the 1920s, growers of raspberries were complaining about damaged crops so in May 1930 a bounty scheme was introduced.  The Government offered sixpence for each blackbird head and twopence for each egg.  It seemed to work; in the period 1941-42, for example, 19380 heads had been handed in and 8709 eggs, for a total payment of 557 pounds,1 shilling and sixpence.  A good way for kids to get pocket money, apparently.

Thankfully, the eradication program didn't completely work and we still have blackbirds to entertain us today.

Monday, September 2

 

Did I say it was blowin' a hooley yesterday?  Well, I was only half right; it was only half a hooley.  We had a whole hooley last night.  The windows rattled, the house shook and we slept like babies through it.  When I checked around this morning, our plant stands at the side of the house have been knocked about and a couple of pots upset.  Some of the stands were covered in plastic and that's been ripped off, although I think I can fix that, and there's no real damage. The fence around Rhys's place next door has been damaged and a gate is off its hinges but I think he's pretty handy so it shouldn't be an issue.

Across the state there are hundreds of houses without power, rivers have flooded, roads have been closed, and so on ... just another day in paradise.

I didn't have a story about a storm so here's one about wind.

CATCH THE WIND                                                                                 30 APRIL 2021

If you take the coast road from Wollongong and head north towards Sydney you will pass through a little town called Stanwell Park.  Most of the houses are clustered around the beach and there’s not much to see on the highway: just a railway station and a shabby hotel, with a few cottages built perilously close to the cliff edge.  Over the years, several of these cottages have collapsed and many of those left have been abandoned.  Overlooking the town is a coal mine, the reason that the town is there in the first place.

There’s no reason for you to stop and, if you drive on a little way you might catch sight of a memorial to one Lawrence Hargrave, a giant among the early pioneers of aviation.  The road you are driving on is now known as Lawrence Hargrave Drive. Perhaps his name doesn’t have the same recognition factor as Wilbur or Orville Wright, or even the Frenchman, Louis Bleriot, but without the inspired discoveries of Hargrave, the flights of the Wright Brothers and Bleriot would likely have taken place much later.

Lawrence Hargrave came to Australia as a young man and was apprenticed at the Australasian Steam Navigation Company.  His father was a Judge and a shrewd investor.  He was generous with his sons endowing them with long-term investments so that, at the age of 33, when his income reached 1000 pounds a year, Lawrence was able to give up work to live the life of a Gentleman Inventor. Many wealthy gentlemen, and ladies, in Victorian times avidly pursued their interest in science and the natural world and, through their work, significant advances were made.

Lawrence moved to a house in Stanwell Park where the family had an interest in the local coal mine.  He was attracted to the town because its proximity to the sea provided the wind conditions he needed to pursue his interest.  His observations of waves and the movements of fish, snakes and birds had encouraged him to become interested in exploring the possibility of flying and, at first, he thought that, if he wanted to achieve flight, he needed to duplicate the flapping motion of birds.  This wrong direction hampered his work for many years.

Initially, though, he put most of his attention to developing a new kind of engine, light-weight and powerful.  He invented a three-cylinder rotary engine which was revolutionary for its time. Hargrave, as a gentleman-inventor, did not believe in patents so all his designs were circulated freely among the community of people working in this area.  He was in regular contact with other inventors such as the Wright Brothers and Louis Bleriot who took up his ideas with enthusiasm.  Sadly, restrained by patriotism and patents, these fellow-inventors were not as free as Hargrave in sharing their designs.

Hargrave’s second great invention was the box kite.  He worked out that the box structure provided much more lift than the traditional kite and in November 1894, using an arrangement of four box kites strung together with piano wire, he was lifted from the ground to a height of 16 feet.  He was the first person in Australia to fly using a heavier-than-air machine and he demonstrated  that flight was possible and safe.  When the first European aeroplanes were built, they used the Hargrave box-kite construction.

Lawrence Hargrave never received the acclaim he deserved during his lifetime.  He could not even find an Australian institution who would display his models and, eventually, he had to send them to Munich where they were treated with the respect they deserved.  The models have now been returned to Australia and are on display at the Powerhouse Museum in Sydney.

If you continue your journey and leave the town of Stanwell Park behind, you will begin to climb Bald Hill.  In the carpark at the top of the hill you will find the memorial to Lawrence Hargrave which was erected in 1940 but, more significantly, on almost any day when there is some breeze you will see hang gliding enthusiasts catching the wind and enjoying their sport.  On the hill above the beach where Lawrence Hargrave made his first discoveries into the nature of flight, the value of his work is being demonstrated and celebrated each day.