Thursday, August 1

I don't have a very big desk and a lot of the available room is taken up with extraneous stuff.  There's a wooden box with several shelves where I shove stuff I don't want to lose, a framed picture of a coat of arms of one of the houses at Giant Steps, a small desk lamp, a tin which once contained butterscotch and now has a few mints in it, a leather-coverted cylinder with a few useful implements, like a paper-knife, scissors, pencils and so on.  For some reason, there's a camera, a pair of sunglasses in a case, a 5m tape measure and a new 2024 diary, unused.

I'm sure I would be much more productive if I had a pristine desk, clear of junk, but that's a pipe dream.  It is what it is and I just have to live with it.

Today's plan is to write another story for my collection.  I haven't looked at my list of 'prompts' yet but, mo doubt, something will catch my interest.

Wednesday, July 31

Marilyn heard that Archie would be left home alone today and decided that it wasn't fair for a little dog to be lonely.  Nothwithstanding that it is bitterly cold at the moment, that there is frost on the road and that I sometimes enjoy a lie-in, it was agreed that I would drop all that I planned and drive over to pick him up.  He was delighted to see me and is now spread on our couch, electric blanket underneath him, enjoying all that life has to offer.  It's a dog's life.

In reality, I don't have much planned for today.  In a couple of weeks' time I have to do a presentation to our Probus Club on our various trips to the Philippines.  I've put together a powerpoint presentation and am just missing a couple of photographs, which Jamie will provide.  Our first trip was 2006 and the last in, I think 2015, so there's a lot of memories to work with.  I just hope they are interested.

We haven't turned on the TV yet to watch what's happening at the Olympics. I think that underlies just how uninterested we are. There seems to a lot of skateboarding and surfing on at the moment and those are certainly not spectator sports (if they're sports at all!).   Who suggested that it might a good idea to include them?  Maybe things will pick up when the Athletics start.

Tuesday, July 30

The weather is particularly cold here at the moment and it is tempting to spend a bit more time in bed in the morning.  Still, we're programmed to be out of bed before 7 o'clock and, even if the snow is up to the door, we follow our usual pattern. Marilyn meets with a group of friends on Tuesdays so she's getting ready for that.  They usually meet at the RSL Club, do a bit of craft and play some bingo but today they're trying out a new venue.  It's just down the road.  In fact, everything is 'just down the road' in Longford.

While she's away I'll spend time on the computer, maybe writing a story or something.  I have an idea that I should have another look at my biography that I wrote years ago.  Not a lot has happened in that time but it might be worth looking at bringing it up to date.  

We have a new neighbour.  Abby from Unit 4, just over our back fence has moved on and, apparently, the unit has been bought by a woman who will bring her daughter with her (age unknown) and a greyhound dog.  Can't wait.  Abby had a Labrador and Archie used to love snuffling through the back fence at him.  We'll see how he deals with a greyhound.

Jen in Unit 1 is also on the move.  She's moved in with her boyfriend and we're waiting to see who will become our new neighbours.  We share a driveway so it's important to have the right people.

Monday, 29 July

We had decided that we needed a small round table and a couple of chairs to complete our re-organisation.  I had measured the space and thought that the table should be no more than 80cm in diameter so I checked the local Buy, Swap and Sell to see what might be available. Apparently, you can buy furniture though Temu and I found just what we needed from a company in Brisbane. Jamie wasn't happy and said at the price it would be total rubbish; we'd be better to go to a local furniture shop and pay a bit extra.

That phrase, 'pay a bit extra', always bothers me so we were at a stalemate.  Jamie took out the big guns and  brought Nera into the equation. She was unequivocal.  "You don't want a round one at all, you need a small rectangular table with a couple of chairs that will sit against the wall there." She checked the internet and found one that would suffice, rang them up, negotiated a price and convinced them to deliver it for an extra $20. 

A nice young couple arrived an hour later with the table and four chairs.  It has a glass top and curved chrome legs, the chairs are black and Marilyn is ecstatic.  So the re-organisation is complete and the room looks better than we could have hoped.

I've plucked todays's story at random and it's not one of my best.

 

BLIND DATE                                                                                                             July 28, 2023

 

I didn’t think I was particularly unattractive but I didn’t ever have a girlfriend when I was at school.  It didn’t really bother me because at that time we tended to go out as a group of boys and girls together and I didn’t stand out as a misfit.  However, when I finally left school, and got a job, I didn’t have a regular group around me to protect me and my lack of a girl-friend started to become glaringly obvious.  My friend, Paul, who always had girls lining up to be his special friend, tried to advise me.

 

“It’s the smell,” he said.

“What smell?” I asked.  “I don’t smell.”  

“Oh, it’s the smell of fear.  You won’t notice it but girls can sense it a mile off.  They know that you’re frightened of them and that turns them off.”

 

Well, I can tell you that I was flabbergasted but had to see that there might be truth in what he said.  Girls were a puzzle to me and I was just a little in awe of the sense of mystery that seemed to surround them; they spoke in code, and giggled at the oddest times.  I worried that they were making fun of me.

 

Paul interrupted my reverie and announced that he was going to take me in hand.  He had arranged a blind date for me the following Saturday night and, to make sure nothing went wrong, he and his current girlfriend would be there with us.  The girl, he promised, would not make fun of me, or snigger, and everything would be fine.

 

Saturday night came around and I made a special effort to look as good as I could.  I borrowed some of Dad’s Brut deodorant and put on a clean shirt.  My sneakers were a bit scruffy, I noticed, but that couldn’t be helped; I would just need to keep them out of sight.

 

We were to meet at the coffee shop in town and then move on to a movie which was the latest Burt Lancaster thriller.  My mind flirted with the possibilities of being in a darkened movie theatre with an attractive young woman but Paul had warned me not to expect too much too soon.  “Be cool, man!” he said.  I thought that sounded like something he might have heard on a TV show from the Sixties but decided not to say anything; he was only trying to help.

 

The girls were waiting for us. Paul’s regular girl-friend looked very nice but I couldn’t take my eyes off the young woman who stood shyly beside her.  My first impression was of dark hair in a ponytail, and the current girls’ uniform of skirt with lots of petticoats, short sleeved top and tiny cardigan.  She was very pretty and it took me a moment to realise that I knew her.  Yes, it was her and I had thought I would never see her again.

 

I took an involuntary step backwards as my mind reeled with memories:  of a holiday at Devonport with my family when I was about 12 years old, and the tent we had pitched beside the beach.  I recalled the carnival which had been set up just along from us and how it was like a magnet for all the children in the campsite.  Even though it only opened in the evenings, all the kids spent their days wandering among the rides and carnival tents, waiting for the hours to pass until the lights were switched on and the exciting music started to play.

 

Among the crowd of children on the beach that summer was one girl of about my age.  Her family, I think, were in a tent further along the beach and she always walked around with a couple of other children, younger than her.  I assumed it was her job to look after them.

 

We spoke only once when I shyly went up to her and asked her some inane question. “ Where are you from?” maybe.  I’m sorry to say that she looked at me as if I were a worm and then ignored me.  My twelve-year old self esteem was bruised that day and I suspect it never quite recovered.  I saw her around the beach again, of course, but was never brave enough to talk to her again.  The holiday came to an end eventually and I returned home with my family, nursing memories which have never left me.

 

I realised that this vision from my past was talking to me and I struggled to make sense of the words.

 

“Hi, have we met before?  You look familiar.”

 

Immediately, all my old insecurities flooded back and, bizarrely, all I could think about was whether she could smell how frightened I was. I don’t know what I said in reply but I hope it wasn’t too stupid.  However, against all the odds, things turned out for the best and we celebrate our 50^th wedding anniversary next month.

Sunday, July 28

It's all about the Olympics this weekend and Marilyn turned it back on as soon as she appeared this morning.  We find ourselves watching sports we have no interest in like canoeing, waiting for another gripping battle in the pool or on the track.  It's disappointing that we have to listen to self-appointed experts like Karl commenting but we just turn down the sound.

Because we have nothing else planned for the weekend, I suspect the TV will not be switched off.  I suppose there are worse ways to spend our time.

Saturday, July 27

So, the Olympics is back.  We love the competition and the excitement of the events but the hype and banality of the commentators is very hard to take.  We didn't stay up to watch the opening ceremony knowing that it would be played ad nauseam in the days after and we were right.  The TV was turned on when I got up and with a bit of dial-turning we found where it was being shown.  It's been on now for nearly three hours and the same 20 minute of vision is being shown, over and over and over ....

We're not great fans of live TV and, especially, of commercial channels so we're finding it hard to deal with the harsh language of the over-excited ex-sportsmen, and the incessant commercials  Commentating is a profession like any other and only the best exponents should be chosen.  The best commentators need to have a knowledge of the sport they're talking about but also a pleasant speaking voice, a good manner and some idea of how to impart their message.  But, if they had all those attributes, they would never be employed by Channel 9.

And Lady Gaga, it's time to retire!

Friday, July 26

 

We're waiting for the cleaner to arrive; it could be anytime between 8 and 12 o'clock but we have nothing else planned for today.  I would, normally, be heading off to my 'classes' at the School for Seniors but I'm not doing that anymore.  I'll probably sit at my desk while the cleaner is here to keep out of her way.  One thing we always have to do on Friday morning is strip the bed, bundle all the linen into the laundry to be washed, shake and turn around the padded under thing and remake the bed when the cleaner has put on fresh sheets.  It's not my favourite day of the week.

One thing I have to do is browse the Marketplace on Facebook to see if anyone is selling a little round table and a couple of chairs.  Harvey Norman want an arm and a leg for something that would suffice but I suspect I can do better in the second-hand market.

I wrote this story in 2022 when the celebrations for the anniversary of the opening of the Sydney Harbour Bridge were underway.  I was interested in the fact that the stone for the bridge supports was all cut from a quarry at Moruya by workers imported from Aberdeen, known in Scotland as the Granite City.  One of the newspapers published a photograph of students at the Moruya Primary School and I was intrigued by one young fellow who seemed better dressed than the others, so I made him the subject of the story.

GRANITE TOWN FACES                                                                               APRIL 1, 2022

 

When his father came in from work with the familiar smell of granite-dust on his clothes and in his hair and said, “We’re going home”, Andrew Ritchie’s heart sank.   His father went on,

 

”They’ve told us the last pieces have been cut and it’s just a matter of cleaning up the site and then we’ll be back to Sydney and on to a ship for home.”

 

“Aren’t we going to stay until the opening of the bridge?” Andrew’s mother asked.

 

“There’s no need; we’re not invited and there will be thousands of people there all trying to get a good look.  I never want to see another piece of Moruya Granite.  I’ve spoken to Mr Gilmore and he said we can leave with the first group to go.”

 

Andrew wondered what it would be like to go back to Aberdeen.  When he thought about it, he realised he missed living in a town where they had paved streets, and street-lights and a library.  Yes, a library!  That’s what I miss most about Aberdeen.  

 

He couldn’t sleep that night, his head spinning with thoughts of what his life would be like.  He would be fourteen in a few months and his father had already told him he had lined up an apprenticeship for him at the Rubislaw Quarry.  Was that to be his life?  Slaving in a granite quarry for ten hours a day and then dying an early death from silicosis.  “Not bloody likely!” he said to himself.  He had read that phrase in a book his teacher had lent him: it was a play, in fact - Pygmalion. By George Bernard Shaw. 

 

Andrew woke early and joined his parents in the kitchen where his father was having his porridge before going to work.

 

“I’m not going,” Andrew announced.

 

“You’re not going where?” asked his mother.

 

“I’m not going back to Aberdeen.  I’m not going to become a stone mason, and I’m not going back to the cold weather.  I want to stay in Australia.  I’ll be fourteen soon so I can get a job and look after myself.”

 

“Don’t be daft,” said his father. “You’ll do what I tell you and that’s the end of the matter.”

 

Andrew waited until his father had gone to work and he could talk to his mother without his father’s bullying.  His mother was sympathetic and said, “This is what we’ll do.  We’ll talk to Mr Gilmore and get his advice.  He’s the only man your father will listen to and whose advice he will accept.”

 

John Gilmore was the manager of the Moruya Granite Quarry and had earned the respect of all his men.  He was a fair man and a good manager and was happy to make time to talk to Mrs Ritchie and help her with her problem.  After listening to the story and asking some questions, he said,

 

“Andrew seems to be a very intelligent and studious young man.  Some might say that he will be wasted as a labourer in a stone quarry.  I have some good contacts in Sydney and I’d be happy to see what I can do.  It might mean, Andrew, that you will have to break away from your family and you may not see them again for many years.  Would you be happy about that arrangement?  And what would you say about staying at school a bit longer and getting a better education? Yes?  Well, leave it with me.”

 

John Gilmore spoke first to Andrew’s teacher and then contacted a good friend who was the chairman of the Scots College Old Boys’ Association in Sydney.  He outlined the situation and his friend said, “Oh, we can certainly help.  We’ve been looking for a way to get involved in something to do with the opening of the bridge and this fits the bill perfectly – here’s a Scottish boy with a connection to the building of the Bridge. We certainly have enough funds to offer a bursary, the Uniform Shop can fit him out and I’ll, personally, offer him a reasonable living allowance.  An ex-teacher from the school, Mr Bill Nimmo, now has his own Prep. School in Randwick and he and his wife offer accommodation to country boys who attend his school and Scots so Andrew will be well looked after.  The Association will pick up those expenses too.  With a few years at Scots, University for Andrew would not be out of the question.”

 

When John Gilmore reported back to Mrs Ritchie, she could not believe what she was hearing.  There were some details which needed sorting out and it would be hard on all the family but it was a wonderful opportunity for Andrew.  Now all she had to do was convince Andrew’s father to agree.