Friday, October 18

You'd think they would want to make it as easy as possible for the bill to be paid.  I'm talking about Aurora Energy, who provide the electricity we use.  You'd think the email they sent me this morning would tell me how much I owe and give me a link to click where I could input my credit card details and forget about it.  But, Oh no!  The email tells me to go to the app, log in and follow the instructions.

And, of course, when I go to the app, it tells me my password is incorrect and there is a whole new rigmarole to go through to sort that out.  All I want to do is fill in a few numbers and forget about it for another month.  I'm too old for all this rubbish.

It doesn't help knowing that there are probably thousands of other Tasmanian citizens this morning tearing their hair out trying to meet their obligations to their electricity supplier.  And if anyone of us threw our hands up and moaned,  "It's just too hard!", there would be no sympathy shown.  

One of my favourite words is AORTA, as in the sentence ' AORTA do it a better way'.  I don't know when I first heard it but is has a definite Monty Python ring about it.  And I'll say it again, AORTA fix it!

Thursday, October 17

I've always been an enthusiastic reader; in fact, I think I was able to read simple books before I started school.  Of course, it was simply that I learnt to associate the letters on the page with the sound of the words that I knew by repetition.  'Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen' was a poem I could recite by heart and recognise on the page.  Putting the two together was no big deal.

I started school in September, 1947 and by the end of 1948 I was in Miss Mars's class.  All the female teachers in those days were 'Miss' as it was expected that married women would have a full-time job looking after their husbands and 'bairns'.  My recollection is that Miss Mars was a stern, ungainly woman and marriage may not have ever been a possibility for her.

It was in her class that I first made the connection between the letter that I recognised on the page and the sound it made.  Once I understood that, I could work out words I had never seen before.  I don't know how many books I have read since then: thousands, certainly but maybe hundreds of thousands.

Sadly, though, I am now not reading as much.  When I put a book down after reading a few pages, all the details drift away from my memory.  When I get back to the book, I flounder with what's happened before and I now know where the phrase 'losing the plot' comes from.

I'm now experimenting with audiobooks to see whether it makes a difference.

The other problem is that I think I've written this blog before.  My only hope is that my few loyal readers are just as forgetful as I am.

Wednesday, October 16

 Today is the sort of day you feel that it's good to be alive.  There's a great Australian saying: 'You wouldn't be dead for quids' which I think sums it up.  And why would we not celebrate?  We're in good health, live in one of the safest countries on Earth with a political system which looks after us, we never go hungry and we're still together after 58 years.

Sadly, not everyone can say the same.  It came home to me when we took part in the census a couple of years ago.  Part of my area was the rural town of Bishopsbourne.  Essentially, it's just one main street and a few lanes running off it.  Most of the houses were attractive and well looked after but there were some areas which appalled me.  I met one young woman sitting on the front step of her shack of a dwelling.  The house was surrounded by a wilderness of long grass and blackberry bushes.  In the front yard was a burned-out car.   However, she seemed cheerful enough.

At the beginning of one lane was a cluster of letterboxes.  As I drove up to them, there was a man putting things in them.  He was the typical Australian gentleman farmer: moleskins, checked shirt, polished boots and Akubra.  He told me there were four dwellings up  the lane, each with a single male occupant.  They were his farmhands.  I drove up to the little settlement and my heart sank.  There were a couple of demountable buildings and two caravans.  The main feature of the area was a huge pile of discardeed cardboard beer cartons.  It was one of the most derelict and unloved places I had ever seen,

You could picture their existence: work on the farm all day, call into the pub for supplies on the way home and spend the evening drinking in front of the TV.  There was no sign of any female presence and the farmer never mentioned it.

We don't know when we're well off.

Tuesday, October 15

 We've woken to a beautiful Spring day in Longford.  The sun is shining, the air is warm and the feeling is that this good weather should be enjoyed while it lasts.  Marilyn is getting ready to go to her Craft group and Jamie has rung to say he is dropping Archie off to 'look after me' while his car gets an oil change.  Jamie calls Archie a Therapy Dog whose duties includes looking after aged relatives.  I think it's more for Archie's benefit than mine.

I browsed through the Longford Community Facebook page this morning.  It's amazing what people find to write about. Apart from the regular requests for recommendations for help with gardening or removing rubbish, there are the sad pleas from people needing desperately to earn some money, there are the pictures of the echidna which has taken to wandering around Marlborough Street and the anguish from a fellow who was broken into last night; "does anyone have any video footage taken in Catherine Street last night?'

I suppose it's just a slice of life and would be typical in a million communities across Australia.

Monday, October 14

 I've come across a book about the Knights Templar which describes how they grew rich and powerful during the Crusades, and how they were finally brought down.  It's called The Knights Templar and Scotland and I know there is an ancient Templar Chapel called Rosslyn near Edinburgh and there are many legends surrounding it.

It's a fascinating story and I'm looking forward to finding out more.

I was showing off my rudimentary French in the following story called Moonlight Bay:

MOONLIGHT BAY                                                                        MAY 12, 2023

Bradley had only spoken to Angelique a couple of times but he realised he was totally, madly, crazily in love with her.  He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t think of anything but the next time they might meet. He was swept up in a whirlwind romance and he was revelling in the excitement of, at last, finding the girl of his dreams.  More surprisingly, and more joyfully, he realised that Angelique seemed to feel the same.  Her eyes sparkled when she was with him and her voice dropped to a low, throaty murmur and he felt he was the only person in the world who could hear what she was saying.

He'd only arrived in Paris yesterday, on his own after his travel-mate had decided to head back to Australia.  Bradley knew he was sometimes hard to get on with and was used to his own company.  Now, here he was, in a small and shabby pensione on the left bank of the Seine.  On this first morning, when he stopped for breakfast at the tiny café on the corner, it was Angelique who served him.  He was immediately enchanted by her dark, sultry looks and extraordinary husky voice.  Certainly, he had had girlfriends in the past but there was nobody back in Westbury who evoked quite the same feelings in him as Angelique did.  He knew he was lost and could never be happy again unless he had Angelique by his side.

He had only known her for a few hours but he believed in ‘love at first sight’ so, gathering his courage in both hands, he asked her to marry him.  To his surprise she said ‘Yes’. 

“But first, ma cher,” she said, ”You must meet my parents.  Tomorrow, we will travel to their home at La Baie du Claire de Lune and you must ask my father for permission for us to wed.”

Bradley thought he was walking on air.  Is it true what they say, he thought, that Paris is the City of Love?  How else could you explain what had just happened?

The following morning, Angelique met him at the café and they made their way to Le Gare de Lyon for the train to La Baie du Claire de Lune 

“My French is not good,” he said to Angelique. “How do you translate La Baie du Claire de Lune?”

“In English, you would say Moonlight Bay.”

“Moonlight Bay?” thought Bradley.  “What a wonderful name.” 

The train soon pulled into a small station.  Through the trees, Bradley could see the glisten of ocean but he had no time to enjoy the view as he found himself facing a large gentleman with a red face and wearing a beret.

“You are Bradley, are you not?” said the large man.

“Yes, monsieur, I am,” Bradley managed to mumble, realising that this must be Angelique’s father.  Bradley could feel that this man might not take to him as quickly as Angelique did.  He would have to be on his best behaviour or everything could come unstuck.

The next few days was an idyllic time for Bradley.  He and Angelique walked hand-in-hand through the winding streets of the mediaeval town, they drank coffee at the café where Rene, the café-owner, would tell them stories of the war and they made plans for the wedding.  At M. le Blanc, Angelique’s father’s, suggestion, Bradley transferred a large amount of money into a joint account at the local bank to cover the expenses of the wedding and their life afterwards.

It was a surprise to everyone when, a few days later, Angelique announced that Bradley had decided not to marry her after all and had left during the night.  There were some who were suspicious but it was not thought necessary for the police to investigate.  In any case, people could always be found to testify that he had been seen walking to the railway station early in the morning, even if the Stationmaster had not noticed him.  Rene and Edith at the café would certainly testify that they had heard Bradley talking to a friend on the telephone saying that he was coming home.  If someone had happened to have seen M. le Blanc in his boat on the bay in the dark of night, dropping a large bundle over the side, they would certainly not mention it to the gendarmes. The people of La Baie du Claire de Lune look after their own.

Angelique mourned the disappearance of her lover for an appropriate length of time then married the son of a local wine dealer.  The capital she brought to the marriage was very welcome and allowed them to launch a new range of wines which they called Moonlight Bay.

Sunday, October 13

 I'm having trouble logging in to my account so this message is simply a test, hoping to help solve the problem.

Saturday (2)

 This is Nera surrounded by last night's Aurora Australis.