Tuesday, January 1st .....

It’s been a while since I posted anything on the blog and today seems like an appropriate day to start again.  In October, I was bogged down with the last-minute rush for the Craft Fair, so the blogging was put on hold and then my innate trend to avoidance took hold and I didn’t get back into the swing.

The Craft Fair was a big success – great feature artists, wonderful crowds and very enjoyable social events.  The Cocktail Party and Official Opening which was held on the Friday night was one to remember.  We had our very good friends, Kit, Rhoda and Rex Reventar, visiting us from the Philippines and I was delighted to be able to showcase the sort of events our club can run.

The Official Guest was the Premier of Tasmania, Lara Giddings.  She comes across on TV as someone a little out of her depth; she is female, single and young, so the old guard of Tasmania don’t warm to her.  In fact, she was very impressive, genuinely nice and easy to chat to, but authoritative and dignified as well.

The food at the Cocktail Party was outstanding.  We had spent a bit more than we should but nobody will forget the fabulous oysters served with Bloody Mary shots, or the huge king prawns. There was a harpist playing throughout the evening and we had invited SiSi, a cabaret artist we met last year, to sing a song.  What a hoot!  The music was New York, New York but she had written new words … I want to be a part of it, Deloraine Craft Fair, and so on.

We had planned to take an exhibition of quilts to New Zealand after the Fair but, in the end, we left it to the curator and her husband to go without us.  Marilyn had some time in Sydney with her family while I tied up the loose ends of the Fair and started to draft out plans for next year.

Christmas and New Year’s Eve have come and gone and we are starting to look forward to how 2013 will unfold.  We are booked on a cruise which leaves Auckland on January 25^th and I am hoping to get to Scotland in April/May.  Otherwise, it will be another year of focusing on the Craft Fair.  But, of course, there’s more to life than that and who knows what interesting events will come about.

Thursday, October 18th .....

There’s been a car sitting on the side of the highway near our house for over a month.  It’s either been dumped or abandoned by joyriders.  For a few days it sat pristine but then the local vandals started to work on it: a headlight kicked in and a door dented: pretty small stuff but Tasmanian vandals are a bit softer than their mainland cousins.

In a perfect world someone would have moved it.  It might be a Council responsibility or, as it’s a highway, the Main Roads Board (if there is such a thing).  The Police might have taken an interest because it’s certainly been a traffic hazard, and might well be a crime scene, but nothing has happened.  I can just imagine the buck-passing that has been going on from one department to another as everyone tries to avoid responsibility.

After about three weeks a sign was sellotaped to the back of the car:  THIS CAR HAS BEEN REPORTED.  Probably some anxious telephonist has got tired of fielding the increasingly desperate phone calls.  The sign might have acted as encouragement as the vandalism increased to the point where every window was broken, the bonnet had been pulled off and the roof dented.  The culmination came the other day when it was torched overnight.

As if by magic, the carcass was removed the same day and, today a Road Maintenance vehicle was parked beside the burn mark on the road, hopefully to clean it up.  Maybe the regulations are clear on whose responsibility it is if the car has been burned-out.  Like the other residents, I’m just happy to see the end of it.

Perhaps, the saga will continue, though, as there is now another car sitting on the side of the highway about 100m from the first one.  Time will tell.

We’ve had a fantastic weekend.  Our friends from Canberra arrived on Friday and kept us hopping until we pushed the last of them on to the plane on Monday.  We saw wonderful things, ate great food and the occasional wine, and rebuilt our faith in our fellow-man.  There is life apart from the Craft Fair.

Wednesday, October 3rd .....

Here’s a horror story for you.  I heard today about the Isopod Parasite (Cymothemoa Exigua) which floats around in the sea, waiting to be drawn into a fish’s gills.  Once inside, it attaches itself to the fish’s tongue and starts to suck on its blood.  Over time, the tongue atrophies and drops off.  Here’s the horror part – the parasite then takes over the function of the tongue which seems not to bother the fish at all.

I wonder if the Isopod Parasite is related to the iPod Parasite, who borrows your iPod and steals all your music.

Jamie arrived back from the Philippines today, full of life and totally in love.  He and Xenia have lots of plans for the future, which is wonderful.  It was a terrific experience for him, living within a different culture and with people who haven’t enjoyed the same experiences as he has.

I find myself reflecting on ‘the old days’ when we struggled – our socks were darned, we looked forward to hand-me-downs, Plum jam was the only type we could afford and there were no luxury holidays.  Dad worked all the overtime he could get to help us all get established.  Of course, we didn’t know we were relatively poor.  Life was wonderful and we didn’t worry about things we didn’t have.  Today, however, I yearn for an iPad.  There’s no earthly reason why I should have one but I want one.  I believe it’s a modern condition called gadget envy.

Thursday, September 20th .....

Our Rotary meeting on Tuesday evening was a little different.  Instead of our usual get-together at the Bush Inn, we took up an invitation to join local kids at a camp organised by the Edmund Rice association.  These camps are set up for children who might be ‘at-risk’ (a dreadful phrase) or vulnerable or having some social or behavioural difficulties at school.  The camps are funded by groups such as ours, businesses or church committees.  There were about 25 primary-aged children at the camp, each one with a mentor.  Mentors are all volunteers, mostly from high schools.

We met in the hall for dinner, sitting elbow-to-elbow at long tables.  The noise was horrendous, encouraged by the mentors who led the kids in banging the tables and chanting, ‘We will, we will, rock you!’  And they certainly did.

I was impressed with the Prime Minister’s comments in Parliament about the death of her father.  The Dylan Thomas poem she mentioned is one of the great pieces of verse in our language. I found it very moving when she turned the poem around to say:

"The last thing my father taught me was, in the life of a man, there is a moment to go gentle into that good night, and so it was,"

Driving home from a meeting last night I was entertained by a radio show featuring the music of 1972.  Why 1972?  I think it was just that year’s turn.  The announcer was Michael Veitch who has been running the ABC evening show since the beginning of this year.  Sadly, he presents his last show tonight, leaving to join a travelling acting company.  I’m sure everyone who lived through the early 90s in Australia will remember Michael on the D-Generation and Fast Forward.

The top ten songs of 1972, based on record sales are an eclectic mix.  You won’t be surprised to hear that American Pie is on the list and The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, but so is Popcorn, an early electronic tune, and The Rangers Waltz by the Mums and Dads (repetitive strict-tempo tune for Saturday night barn dances).  Do you remember Wayne Newton’s ‘Daddy, Don’t You Walk Too Fast’?  It’s on the list.  What were we thinking, buying this stuff?

It’s what’s not on the list which is more interesting.  Gilbert O’Sullivan’s ‘Alone Again (Naturally)’ missed out, as did Benny Hill’s classic, ‘Ernie, the Fastest Milkman in the West, and (shock, horror) John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’.  We clearly had a confused sense of what is good in 1972.

Tuesday, September 18th .....

I love the internet. If something pops into my head, I can get information on it immediately.  The blue engine I saw the other night stuck in my mind and I couldn't rest until I looked it up.  It was the first of a series of diesel-electric locomotives built in Montreal for the NSW General Railways.  They were built in 1951-2 and the last was taken out of service in 1971.  Engine # 4001 was preserved at the Railway Museum at Tahmoor and restored.  It is now used for enthusiast tours such as the one I saw on Sunday.

It's interesting that early diesel engines are now over 60 years old and people can become as excited about them as they do about steam engines.

Sunday, September 16th .....

I’m sitting at Sydney’s Central Station waiting for Marilyn to arrive from Mudgee on the XPT. It doesn’t arrive until 8.49pm so I still have a couple of hours to waste. There was one little bit of excitement; a train pulled into platform 1, pulled by 2 ancient diesel engines and a horde of railway enthusiasts poured out of the nine carriages. What do you call a group of train-spotters? I’ll have to look it up. (I did look it up on a site devoted to collective nouns and found several suggestions: an anorak of trainspotters, a sadness of ... and an aspergers of ....  Not very imaginative and a bit cruel).

I find it extraordinary that people can become so fanatical about mechanical objects like trains, or cars, or planes, but they seem to get unending joy looking back at their photos and DVDs. It seems to be a father-son thing and I feel for the long-suffering wives who have to show some understanding of their bloke’s passion. I rang one of the Rotarians the other week and he told me he was watching a video he had just been given of old trains in Tasmania - at 9 o’clock in the morning. Each to his own, I suppose.

It’s been a good few days in Wollongong. Mum is not with us at the moment and I find it difficult to watch her deteriorate. She talks in the broad Scottish accent she would have used as a child and her words, although I can understand them, don’t have any context. As you can imagine, it’s very distressing.

I took Uncle Archie out in the wheelchair; we walked along the beach and popped into a little café for lunch. I know he enjoyed it and, on the way back to the home, he wanted to go into MacDonalds for coffee. We talked for more than an hour, about his family in Scotland, and the information I had dug out about Mum’s family, the Donachies, whom he knew well. He told me it was the most interesting conversation he had had for a long time. I was pleased about that but, as we moved off with him in the wheelchair, he called back over his shoulder, ‘John, I really enjoyed talking to that man.’ Oh, well!

I had a chance to read the Sydney papers this weekend and I was reminded of how much I enjoy Peter Fitzsimons. His open letter to the rioters in Sydney said it all. What were they thinking? If they wanted to harden the growing distrust of Muslims, they could not have chosen a better way. I despair of this problem ever being resolved.

Monday, September 10th .....

I often watch Q&A although I find myself becoming very frustrated with the views that some people cling to so firmly.  I am particularly irritated by people who display ignorance or intolerance of minorities and I am usually appalled by religious leaders who find it so hard to justify their views in front of an intelligent, critical audience rather than the ‘faithful’ who accept their every word.

Angry Anderson, last week, epitomised the ignorant loudmouth who will tell anyone who will listen that his point of view is as good as anyone else’s.  It’s not.  At least, he had the grace to say that he had changed his mind about refugees when he actually met some.  The trouble is that he shoots off his mouth before he finds out the facts, and we have enough of that sort in Australia already.  Mr Anderson is trying to launch a political career based, perhaps, on his rock ‘n’ roll credentials.  We’ve already got one ex-rocker in parliament; we certainly don’t want another one.

I still remember Archbishop Pell in his debate with arch-atheist Richard Dawkins, who made mine-meat of him.  Tonight was Anglican Archbishop Peter Jensen’s turn.  At first, I thought he radiated a rather intelligent and kindly façade but, when the questions became a bit more pointed, he floundered.  Trying to justify asking women ‘to submit to their husbands’ was certainly beyond him, and his spin on homosexuality showed his true colours.  As the program unfolded, Archbishop Jensen showed more and more how isolated he is from the real world outside the walls of his cathedral.

Having taken a swipe at only some of the panel shouldn’t be taken to mean that I agreed with everything said by everyone else.  Sometimes it has been known for me to disagree with everyone.

Sunday, September 9th .....

It’s a sad time for us; Marilyn’s father died this morning.  He’s been ill for some time so, in many ways, it was a release for him, but it still leaves a gap which is hard to deal with.

I can remember writing about Bill Lofting in a previous blog so I won’t go over old ground.  He had a remarkable life and one to be celebrated.  I often say that my generation is the lucky one.  We were born after WW2 and grew up in a time of plenty.  We had unlimited freedom, as children and as young adults and we’ve lived through the greatest period of change that mankind has ever seen. 

However, Bill’s generation has seen all of that and more.  He grew up during the Great Depression and survived WW2.  Such experiences leave their mark on a person and Bill often talked about writing a book which he would have called ‘Making a Quid in the Great Depression’.  We even started collecting stories from him of his memories of that time.  He left school early, as most kids did at that time and ‘made a quid’ in various jobs around Sydney before becoming a jackeroo on properties ‘out west’. 

Happily, we managed to get some recordings of him telling his yarns and they will become a treasured family resource.

Saturday, September 8th .....

Marilyn and Jamie flew to Melbourne yesterday on the first leg of Jamie’s trip to the Philippines to meet Xenia, his new lady-love.  Marilyn won’t be going on to Manila but it was a shame to waste the domestic flight so she flew with Jamie to wave him off this morning, and will come back this afternoon).  Jamie’s very excited and we hope everything works out as he wishes.

While we were on the ship recently, we found that one of the issues with having a cabin deep down in the hull is that there are more ship-board noises than if you up on Deck 11, for example.  The engine room is close by, and the crew quarters, and the gangplank is just beside you.  So, arriving and leaving port brings a cacophony of sounds.

When we were leaving Noumea at close to midnight, we heard the noise of rushing water.  With thoughts of the Titanic in mind, I looked out the porthole and found that the whole side of the ship was lit up and that dozens of seagulls were flying around and diving into the water from time to time.  Clearly there had been some discharge from the ship.  I could still see the lights of Noumea so we were not far off shore.  Having been brought up on tales of maritime adventure, I dismissed it as the crew pumping out the bilges – not that I know what the bilges are or why they needed to be pumped out.

It happened again the next night, we would first hear clanking then the rush of water.  Maybe they pump out the swimming pools each night, I thought. It usually happened a couple of times and then everything was quiet.

The third time it happened, I suspected that the water was something else.  2000 passengers, 700 crew, going to the toilet an average of three times a day at, say, 1 litre of water per flush – that’s a lot of water.  Include all the showers, and hand washing , and washing-up in the kitchen and so on, multiply that by 7 days and I’m starting to wonder whether the ship had a tank big enough to hold it all, and was there enough time at each port to pump it out, and what happens if we anchor off-shore and get taken in by tender?  But, no, they couldn’t …..

On QI the other night, there was a question about the Pacific Trash Vortex, a Texas-size raft of rubbish floating in the Pacific Ocean, north of Hawaii.  Mostly composed of plastics, the existence of this raft is blamed on the accumulated rubbish of thousands of ships disposing of their waste the easy way.  So, on to the internet and the first article I come across is headed ‘The cruise ship industry’s dirty secret’.

Yes, it’s true.  Until the first Clean Cruise Acts came into being in recent years, cruise ships were entitled to pump out grey water (from showers, etc) and black water (from toilets) directly into the ocean as long as they were 3 miles from land.  And the acts are state-based; there is no international covenant preventing ships from polluting international waters.  In reality, of course, the major cruise lines do their best.  Modern ships have sewage treatment processes but the outflow from these still find their way into the ocean.  Food waste and garbage is also treated.  Most garbage goes through a grinder before being dumped; glass and cans are crushed and stored for removal at the next port.

It’s not a pretty subject and those of us who enjoy cruising just have to ignore it in the hope that our cruise ship is a responsible-enough citizen to want to look after the environment it depends on for its future.

Thursday, September 6th .....

It’s my grand-daughter’s birthday next week, and it was my job to buy a birthday card which we could send to her in Brisbane, probably stuffed with bank notes.  I’m generally lucky in choosing cards and have a pretty good record of picking one with just the right balance of design and verse.  However, I found it particularly hard to select one for Madeleine.

First, every card for females from birth to 85 was pink!!!! Are we mad?  Do we really believe that females are so devoid of individuality that they all have the same favourite colour or is it that females are so conforming they are desperate to show that they ‘belong’ to the group?  Madeleine is not a ‘pink’ girl; she certainly does not fit the characteristics of a person obsessed with pink – twee, insipid, featureless, and so on.

Second most of the cards were illustrated with soft fluffy animals, teddy bear, rabbits, etc.  Or a horse!  Some had impossibly thin girls with short skirts, or umbrellas.  A big selection, obviously for mums or nans, had pictures of bunches of flowers.

Third, the verses were appalling.

There’s a niche available for some entrepreneur who can come up with a selection of birthday cards for females who are individual, strong and adventurous, with messages that are fitting and non-patronising.  Still, I know that Madeleine, like all 17-year olds, will chuck away the card and concentrate on the bank notes.

It makes me think of another pet peeve.  Among all the things that parents need to teach their children, why do they spend so much time on teaching the concept of ‘cute’?  Every time I hear a Mum saying the dreaded sound ‘A-a-a-w’, I cringe waiting for the follow-up, ‘Isn’t it cute!’  What does ‘cute’ mean?  It’s clearly somewhere in the realm of pretty, twee, cuddly, baby-like, vomit-making.  On the ship we’ve just left they had a big sale of stuff from the various shops on board.  One table was covered with little fluffy animals in pastel colours, wearing pyjamas, and funny hats, with big eyes and quizzical expressions.  The interesting thing is that kids were ignoring them until Mum called them back.  ‘Look at this teddy.  Isn’t it cute?’  The kids, who are not stupid, saw an opportunity to suck up to Mum and get her to open her purse, and immediately started to play the game.  ‘Oh, isn’t it precious.  Can I have one, M-u-u-m?  Pl-e-a-s-e!!’

Understanding ‘cute’ is something you learn, and there is no survival value in knowing about it.  Focus on what’s important, parents.  Today’s kids need to know more than we ever did and there’s no room for ‘cuteness’.

Friday, August 31st .....

There’s a show on every night in what they call the Marquee Theatre. Some are called production shows and feature the resident singers and dancers – a troupe of 8. Don’t Stop the Music and Pirates of the Pacific have been terrific but last night we were treated to the first performance of a new show, Life As We Know It. Until now, I have in my mind the best show we have seen on a cruise ship has been British Invasion which we saw on the Diamond Princess. Until now …. Life As We Know It was something else again. It set itself up as a comment on aspects of life, tied together by quotes, visuals and singing and dancing. The costumes were interesting but bore no relationship to what we were seeing and there were brief interludes where acrobats swing from ropes attached to the ceiling. But, it was brilliant!

We spoke to the Cruise Director after the show and congratulated him. He commented they were trying to bring the shows up to date and used the phrase ‘cutting edge’. They were looking at what could be done with modern music and attitudes and trying to bury some of the old clichés which appear too often in these shows. One section stood out for me as typical of the show – the song was Gotye’s Somebody That I Used to Know and the two lead singers took the roles as a couple whose love had died and they were breaking up. They were joined by a rope, which they used as a weapon. They were vicious to each other and spat out the words of the song. It’s a fabulous song and it came to life in a very dramatic performance.

On the other hand, tonight’s show was Motor City based on the music of Motown. It was slick, professional and energetic but in comparison with Life As We Know It, it was tired, dated and clichéd. This show is one they have done for quite a long time and while they maintained its freshness and the costumes and music were great, it was yesterday’s show. We’ve certainly moved on from there.

These production shows are only an hour long but this little troupe of 8 people presented four shows in the 7 day cruise, and danced and sang twice each night. And that’s not all they do. During the day you will see them working in one of the shops or running dance classes or the Morning Trivia. We’ll go home tomorrow exhausted and they’ll be welcoming on board another 2000 people who all want their pound of flesh. What a life!

Thursday, August 30th .....

I mentioned before that there were several groups on board but I hadn't realised that one group of fifty was a wedding party. I assume that all the guests paid their own way; otherwise some poor father would have been faced with a big bill.  The happy couple were married on the beach at Port Vila and they turned up on deck while we were watching an ice carver.  What fantastic memories they will have.

This ship is so unlike the Legend of the Seas. There’s an energy here which was certainly missing on the Legend. Of course, there’s still the emphasis on squeezing as much money out of the customers as possible and much of the daily happenings are based around opportunities for the Spa to advertise its wares or the Art Director to flog more of her stuff. But, P&O don’t push it with the same fervor as others, and there’s a lot to do without opening yourself to some impulse buying.

Today’s ‘What’s On’ listed three sets of trivia, a Martini Masterclass and a Whisky Tasting, Earring Making, Quilling, T-Shirt Colouring, three or four dance classes, Yoga, ‘Walk-a-Mile’ on the deck, a Marriage Match Gameshow, Bingo, and so on and so on. It’s not hard to keep busy.

We’ve met a couple of couples and made up a Quiz Team. Murphy and Lisa are from some island north of Brisbane and cruise a lot. Their philosophy is to take the cheapest cabin available and no frills. This way they can travel more often. Graham and Janet are from Brisbane and are travelling with their 26 year-old son Rowan who has severe health issues and isn’t able to work. Rowan and I went to the Whisky Tasting today and it was terrific. The presenter was a Scot who certainly knew his stuff. We tasted four single malts and learnt about the history of whisky and the modern processes of making it. He made a few particularly interesting points:

He’s not a fan of Johnny Walker although he quite likes their Blue. He would always choose a single malt over a blend but, if pressed to choose a blend he quite likes Chivas Regal and Famous Grouse, which happens to be my favourite. He says that Australian whisky is getting better, especially the Tasmanian brands and showed off bottles of Sullivan’s Cove and Lark. To put it in context, he pointed out that, if you could choose a Glenfiddich 12 yo in a standard bottle or a bottle of Lark with the label marked with the Batch # and the signature of the Master Distiller, many people would choose the one with the more personal touch. And with that personalization, it is more likely to increase in value.

But, to show that it all about marketing, the Duty Free shop on the ship sells 2 bottles of Famous Grouse for $25 but it costs $35 for two bottles of Johnny Walker Red. You can imagine which ones I bought.

This evening’s dinner was at Salt, which is part of the Luke Mangan empire. It’s tucked away on Deck 12 but, when you enter, it is like a 5-star restaurant in Sydney or Melbourne. Blinds and screens keep out the rest of the world so you can forget that you are afloat and enjoy the ambience. It’s a Grill, of course, so steak is king. I wasn’t particularly happy with my 300g Wagyu Scotch Fillet; there was too thick a rim of fat, although it was cooked beautifully. Marilyn had Barramundi and the entrees and sides were terrific. We ran out of appetite so took a takeaway plate of cheese and petit fours to have for supper. It cost us $40 each extra for the meal and we had a bottle of Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc for $49 but we thought it was worth every penny.

Wednesday, August 29th .....

Well, we did get off in Lifou. The colour of the sea around Lifou is spectacular. The deep water is indigo and the closer you get to the beach, the greener it becomes. And it is as clear as crystal. On the way back to the ship, we walked along the jetty to the tender and I noticed a movement in the water. A few feet down was a sea turtle, nosing around the rocks.

The people of Lifou had gone to a great deal of trouble to welcome their visitors. The children from the school, all dressed in native costume, sang for us, and their parents set up stalls to sell the sorts of things that tourists love. Marilyn and I walked along to a little beach and were very disappointed to see rubbish all along the foreshore. Somebody had made an attempt to pile up the beer cans but there was paper rubbish strewn about everywhere. Not a good look and it wouldn’t have been much trouble to tidy it up a bit and make a better impression.

It was Port Vila this morning. There were plenty of shore tours available but we didn’t take advantage of any of them. We lost our enthusiasm for a walk into the town when we saw the crowd of burly taxi drivers harassing people ahead of us and were just as happy to spend the day on the ship. We’re not great tourists and don’t get switched on by Cultural Shows or Taste the Local Food extravaganzas.

Trivia success continues. We were second in both the Morning and Afternoon competitions but won the Pub Quiz in the evening which gave us each a P&O cap with the word Winner embroidered on it.

We had dinner this evening at La Luna, the specialty Asian restaurant for which they charge an extra $20 per head. The food was outstanding so we’ve booked again for Friday night. It will be that same menu but that’s not a problem.

Last night’s entertainment was Pirates of the Pacific, an energetic song and dance spectacular, great for kids but with enough entertainment value for adults as well. Tonight was the juggler back but we think we have had enough of him for one cruise so we spent an hour or two after dinner in the Orient Bar with a duo called The View. They won me by playing Money for Nothing, followed soon after by Just Another Brick in the Wall. Good stuff!

Tuesday, August 28th .....

We’re a bit odd in that we prefer to have our meals at a table for two rather than sit with strangers. It’s not a problem on some ships but, on others, it can be a difficult. On the Volendam, with all its good points, we finally gave up and ate more often at the buffet because there never seemed to be a table for two available at the time we wanted it. The Pacific Dawn is shaping up to be just as difficult.

On the advice of the waiter at the first lunch, we requested Table 82 at 6.15pm. We were assured that there would be no problem, that it would be booked for us at the same time each evening and, if we didn’t want it, just let them know and they would give it to someone else. To be sure, just confirm after each meal that we would like the same table he next night. OK, we can cope with that.

That evening, we fronted up, introduced ourselves and were taken to a large table where there were two spare seats. No, we said, we have a booking for Table 82. Sorry, there’s someone else sitting there. We stamped our foot and the Head Waiter had to be called. Reluctantly, we were given a table for four, with a guarantee that no one else would join us. At lunchtime, the next day, we were shown to a table with four young women. No, no, we said, we want to eat alone. No table was available. There’s one there, we said. Sorry, no waiter is allocated to that table. So we went to the buffet.

That night, after double-checking, we were shown to Table 82. Great, except that the two tables adjacent had groups of primary school-age children with no adults. Not a particularly peaceful meal! We know when we’re beaten so we’ve booked in to the specialty restaurants for two of the remaining nights and will use the buffet for the rest of the time.

We’ve been having a bit of a success at the Quizzes. After the debacle of the Music Quiz, we’ve focused on general topics and have surprised ourselves. We have been just one point off the winners a couple of times and actually won on Monday afternoon. Our prize was a P&O stubby holder each. We’ve formed a team with two other couples. The questions range from: what is the literal translation of karaoke? to what is the name of the monkey in the movie Aladdin? Today we tied with another team on 14 out of 20 points. In the tiebreaker, one member of each team was asked, into how many languages has Gone with the Wind been translated. Our representative said 46, the other said 15. The right answer was 26 and the other team won because they were under the correct figure. Go figure! Anyway, the prize was a P&O cap for everyone so not too disappointing.

Monday, August 27th .....

We arrived in New Caledonia this afternoon; the sky was a bit overcast but it was warm and almost everybody went off the ship. We decided that we weren’t tempted by the tourist attractions and Noumea didn’t look much different to other small cities we had seen, so we enjoyed the quietness of a deserted ship. We did see the dancers on the dock; in fact, they were just outside our porthole. There is something to be said for a cabin in the bowels of the ship.

The entertainment this evening was a Game Show where people had to remember the lyrics of a song. I think there was a TV show with the same format. Eight contestants were chosen but eventually only one was left. She had to give the lyrics of three different songs, which she did, and won a three-day cruise, a dinner at Salt restaurant and $150 to spend at the Spa. I had never even heard of the last song she was given.

It’s interesting travelling with an almost exclusively Australian passenger list. Bad manners seem to be acceptable now, or is this just part of our egalitarian nature (Great Australian Myth #6)? What else would make people leave their beer glass on the floor when they had finished drinking it (if someone kicks it over, that’s their problem)? Are five-year olds really as entitled to a seat as the old woman with the walking frame? Is there really nothing wrong with wearing a swimming costume and bare feet to the dining room? Challenging authority is one thing but if you are told that children should not sit in the front row in the theatre (for safety reasons), is it OK to wait until a security person comes to talk to you before you pay attention? Do you not feel embarrassment?

One bad habit I really dislike is the way in which some people pile their plates high at the buffet and then can’t eat it all. They say that Australia is the fifth most obese nation in the world. I had wondered about that, but I’ve noticed quite a few of my fellow-passengers are trying hard to lift us up the table. I know that lifts are only rated to carry a certain weight but this cruise is the first time I’ve heard a lift alarm, and it’s happened three times already in my hearing. The odd thing is that it’s often a skinny bloke who volunteers to get off and not the barrel on legs who has probably caused the problem. I heard a woman being interviewed on radio the other morning; she, apparently, started Oz Harvest which ‘rescues’ food and re-distributes it to the needy. She would have a field day on Pacific Dawn.

Tomorrow, we’re in Lifou and we hope this is a more traditional tropical island paradise so we’ll be tempted to get off the ship.

Sunday, August 26th .....

It was a great first day to the cruise. A quick lunch in the Waterfront Restaurant was followed by Lifeboat Drill and a lazy afternoon exploring the ship. My first positive impressions were confirmed. Pacific Dawn doesn’t have the glamour or the sheer size of more modern vessels but she has a certain grandeur. Because we booked so late, we have a cabin on Deck 4 and we weren’t able to swing an upgrade. No matter, we only sleep here and that’s never a problem.

We’re somewhere at sea at the moment and have just had lunch. We’re supposed to be going to a Music Trivia but haven’t managed to harness enough energy so we’ll give that a miss. There’s one every day covering various decades. Yesterday was the Eighties, about which we know little. We were asked to name 20 tunes after hearing a snippet (we got 6 right, if you accept I Hate Mondays, rather I Don’t Like Mondays) but only 2 of the artists. The only couplet we answered correctly was ‘Africa’ by Toto. Unbelievable! The winner got 37.5 out of 40. Bring on the Sixties and we’ll show them.

The show last night was a juggler (yawn!) but he was fantastic. I won’t try to explain why he was so good but at one stage he was juggling a small child and 2 balls. I didn’t like his Tasmanian jokes but you do get used to it after a while.

The highlight of the morning was a Wine Tasting, of Australian wines between $49 and $125 on the wine list. It was great fun. Each wine was introduced by one of the wine waiters. They came from Indonesia or India or the Philippines, and each one was funnier than the one before. The star was a Filipino called Bernard who had his notes stuck to the end of the table so he wouldn’t forget what to say. He talked about looking at the wine, checking its nose, and taking a sip, all to gales of laughter from his colleagues. When it came to sipping it, he made a face and shuddered. It turned out that this was his first time to introduce a wine. I suspect it was his first time to taste as well.

Saturday, August 25th .....

It’s the first day of our cruise and we’re nearly four hours out of Brisbane. We left a little late but I’m sure the captain will make up the time. We had a good flight up from Launceston yesterday and it was great to see Madeleine, our grand-daughter, last night, looking so well and sounding so happy with life. It’s not easy being 16 but she seems much more settled since the last time we saw her.

Our flight from Launceston didn’t leave until 4pm but, of course, we were packed and ready to go by mid-morning. We decided a lunch at the Country Club would help fill in the time. As luck would have it, the Liberal Party Conference was being held there and we were delighted to see all the elegantly-dressed and immaculately-coiffured ladies arriving to exercise their right to rule, red-faced farmers in their RM Williams shirts and drizabone jackets, ever-smiling wannabees, eager for every opportunity to impress and the world-weary professional politicians, trying to hide their reluctance to give up another weekend for another conference at the ends of the earth. We even saw Tony Abbott at the airport, having just flown in from Brisbane.

I was invited to a Liberal Party Conference once, in tandem with one of my staff who was being touted as a success story from the old Work for the Dole scheme. Peter had duly completed his allotted hours and I gave him a permanent job. Our local Senator, Eric Abetz was so impressed, he paid for Peter to attend the conference to show him off and I was able to attend as well, but had to pay my own way. I don’t remember it as a highlight of my career but I did shake hands with John Howard, although I bet I’m only one of millions who’ve done that.

I’m very impressed with the Pacific Dawn. I had some misgivings about her age and the fact that she is a P&O ship which, in my mind, places her several steps below the Princess boats we’ve been on previously. In fact, she’s quite grand. She was built originally as the Regal Princess and designed by Renzo Piano. Her atrium is not as glitzy as some we’ve seen but there’s plenty of room with high ceilings and wide corridors. Deck 7 has several comfortable bars and a terrific dining room. I think we’ll have a good cruise.

Boarding was the usual shambles - hordes of people trying to work through the process with no instructions. Drop off the bags first, then get in line, only to discover you should have filled out a form first, finally reach the desk to a surprisingly cheerful young woman who completes the transaction, then wait to be called to the security check.

This is not unlike other boardings we’ve experienced, but with one subtle difference. There are certainly more groups travelling together than we’ve seen before, and they advertise the fact. There’s a gaggle of young women wearing T-shirts – ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Tour 2012’, two fortyish women in black and white skirts, accompanying a third one with a tiara and a sash – ‘Celebrating Kylie’s Fortieth’, and a large family with red and black shirts with a white ship on the back and the slogan, ‘Big Birthday Adventure’.

What have we let ourselves in for?

Thursday, August 23rd .....

We had the editor of the Launceston Examiner as our guest speaker at Rotary on Tuesday evening.  He gave us twenty minutes of the party line and then, foolishly, asked for questions.  Of course, we all wanted to know about media bias, how do they choose which Letters to the Editor get printed, if someone came with half a million dollars of advertising and wanted a specific editorial printed, what would happen, and so on.  Sturdily, he held to the fiction that his newspaper is independent (it’s part of the Fairfax stable and if Gina Rinehart took control, she would have him for dinner.)

One thing he did say was that he believes the centralisation of reporting staff would lead to better articles and, as if by magic, I had read one the previous Sunday in The Sunday Examiner.  Written by Sam de Brito of Fairfax Media, it set out to debunk some of the treasured little Aussie myths which bolster our self esteem and help us to understand our place in the world (the little Aussie battler, punching above our weight.

He starts on our athletes and the myth that they make great sacrifices and ‘do it for Australia.'

‘Please.  How many people get the taxpayer-funded opportunity to put their adult life on hold, cocooned in a state of arrested development while they fly around the world chasing a dream?’  It’s the parents of those ambitious, single-minded and selfish people who make the real sacrifices – of energy, time, money and fossil fuel.

He then takes a swipe at some other myths: We’re egalitarian ‘despite the vertiginous gap between rich and poor, the most concentrated media ownership on the planet and the fact we’re home to the richest woman on earth and still think she deserves a widdle tax break.’

We’re laid-back, yet we work the longest hours of any nation in the developed world’ (is this true?)

We’re bronzed aussies, yet 61% of Australians are either overweight or obese and we’re ranked the fifth fattest nation on earth.

We believe in a fair go, except if you’re a 13-year old Afghan boat person .  Or you’re a gay couple who wants to get married.  Or you’re disabled.  Or Aboriginal.  Or Muslim.

We get on with it, and don’t complain, yet perpetuate one of the most vexatious, self-centred talk-back cultures in the Western world.

I haven’t copied the whole article but you get the idea. I suppose people might say it’s easy to be negative but I’m enough of a cynic to enjoy when someone pricks the smug bubble in which too many of us seem to live.

Sunday, August 19th .....

We had an invitation to the opening of a new gallery in Deloraine last night.  On the bottom of the invitation it said ‘Black Tie’.  Beauty, said Marilyn, rubbing her hands together.  We’ve hardly been out for weeks and a black tie affair was the perfect vehicle for us to re-enter society.  I’d been suffering from a sore back for a couple of days but even that wasn’t going to get me out of going.  All dolled up – Marilyn in sparkly black and silver and me in my dinner suit – we headed off to the ‘do’. 

The gallery is in the main street of Deloraine and has previously been a second-hand furniture shop.  Cindy, the owner has cleaned it up with new paint and it’s a very welcoming space.  She’s a very well-known quilt-maker but makes a whole range of other crafty things for sale.  The place was packed with all the local hippies in their finery.

I misunderstood the meaning of ‘black tie’.  In my naivety, I thought it meant wear a dinner suit with formal shirt and black bow tie.  Not any more, apparently!  Among the crowd of 100 or so, there were three dinner suits: the first was an elderly gentleman who seemed bewildered and I think he had come to the wrong function.  The second was a man of my age, wearing a dinner suit I suspect he inherited from his father (or even grandfather), and the third was me.  Every other man had been dressed by Vinnies. 

Unironed shirts were popular as were a variety of hats.  Several men wore over-large overcoats; one, in fact, kept tripping on his.  Dreadlocks are in, semi-shaved chins are de rigeur, boots are an essential fashion accessory.  Most seemed to have made a point of not combing their hair.

For the women, think shabby.  Fur coats are back (one attractive young woman bought hers at the City Mission for $15 and wears it everywhere!).  Again, boots are in, worn with everything.  Even the kids looked odd.  One little girl wore pink wellies with her red dress, a teenage girl sported a man’s khaki trenchcoat complete with belt, and a bowler hat to set it off.

The food was eccentric.  The first trays brought around had little spoons filled with tofu and shredded seaweed, then we had sushi with a dollop of guacamole on top, followed by Curry Puffs on sticks.  There was plenty of wine and the supply seemed endless.  When we left after an hour and a half, it was still flowing freely.  No doubt the party kicked on, but we had an hour’s drive to get home so left them to it.

This has been the only black tie affair that we have been invited to this year and we stood out like sore thumbs.

Saturday, August 18th .....

As I drive into Launceston, there’s a farm dam on the right, not far from the road and very popular with black swans.  During the summer there was a thick growth of reeds in the middle of the dam but they have all but died off with the cold weather.  Over the past week or so, pairs of swans have been building their nests in the shallow water; there were four when I last looked but that number could increase to ten or more by the end of next month.

I checked Wikipedia to see whether the nest were floating or built up from the bottom and discovered some extraordinary information about swans’ mating habits.  They mate for life (I knew that) but about a quarter of all pairings are homosexual.  Apparently, the gay couple acquire eggs by forming a relationship with a female and then chasing her away when she produces the eggs.  Alternatively, the two males will drive off a female sitting on her eggs and take them over.  Do the chicks from that ménage suffer in later life?  The Christian lobby tell us that children need both a mother and father.  Does that apply to birds as well?

In Tasmania, the government is talking about allowing gay marriage.  I wonder if they should take evidence from an ornithologist before they draft the legislation.

I’m reading a book at the moment written by Charles Todd, one of a series. It’s in the tradition of Agatha Christie mysteries with the hero a Detective Inspector who has just returned from WW1, suffering from shell shock.  He’s a psychological mess and carries around with him, in the back of his mind, the voice of his platoon sergeant, Hamish, who had been summarily executed on the battlefield for so-called cowardice.

There’s lot to like about the books.  Charles Todd is, in fact, a mother and son writing team, one of whom lives in Oregon and the other somewhere else.  Their descriptions of English life in the 1920s are excellent and they capture the nuances of country villages very well.  Hamish is, as you would expect, Scottish and the way they capture his accent is outstanding.  Just occasionally, an Americanism slips in: putting sugar and cream in tea, and a load of lumber being delivered to the cart-maker.  However, I suppose they are writing for an American audience and we all know that Americans can’t cope with anything except their own narrow perceptions on the world.

This time next week we will be joining the ship.  Our previous cruises have been on ships like the Diamond Princess and the Volendam, marketed for the mature traveller who enjoys some of the finer things in life without necessarily having the wherewithal to pay for it.  The Pacific Dawn is aimed at younger people and families.  We’re more likely to get a chicken schnitzel for dinner than an escallope of veal, but no doubt we will cope.  The ship was designed by Enzo Piano and built in the early-1990s but a major refit in the past couple of years has given it a new lease on life.

Thursday, August 9th .....

Thank goodness that Australia has won a couple more gold medals in the past few days.  I had visions of the team coming back to Australia with their collective tails between their legs and being ignored by the usually-adoring public.  Even more worrying was the thought that our lack of success would lead to calls for more government funding to make sure we win more medals at the next Olympics.

I can remember the Montreal Olympics in 1976 when Australia did not win a single gold medal.  The immediate reaction was to throw money at the problem.  It took two or three Olympic cycles before we (the Australian public) were satisfied and we have now been locked into continuing funding of elite sport to the tune of some $170 million per year.  Just think what else we could do with that money.

The questioning has already started with so-called experts telling anyone who will listen what we should do to fix the problem.  The excuses are also rolling out – our best coaches are working overseas, we can’t afford to keep them in Australia, and so on.  As well, though, more and more people are starting to look at our obsession with Olympic gold medals and asking what spin-off benefits we receive from the spending.  Dr Steve Georgakis from Sydney University says:

“The notion that if you support the elite, it will stimulate interest at a grass roots level where kids follow by example, having gained an interest in swimming and sport is rubbish. It’s never been validated or supported.”

Somewhere I read of one commentator who was bemused by the fact that we, the second most obese nation in the world, is spending millions on a handful of elite athletes and almost nothing on sports which genuinely attract kids to take part: netball, soccer, gymnastics, etc.

I’ve been mulling this over for the past few days but my thoughts gelled when I saw Gruen Sweat last night.  The show is dissecting the marketing hype surrounding  the Olympics and last night they featured two mock ad campaigns addressing the question: how would you convince people to accept no government funding for Olympic athletes?  Both agencies took the tack of what else we could do with the money with such ideas as ‘for the same amount of money we could provide homes for 1000 homeless people or support Jason to run 15^th in his heat of the 800m’.  It was impressive stuff but I wouldn’t take much convincing that we have missed the plot.

Australians like to think that we ‘punch above our weight’ but we pay a high price for a bit of cheap pride. Maybe this Olympics will give us a reality check.

I am writing this as a Tasmanian whose government is closing schools and hospital beds but can still find $5 million to sponsor the Hawthorn Football Club to play five games of football in Launceston each year.  I can’t help thinking of the Roman idea of providing bread and circuses to keep the populace happy in the hope that it will stop them revolting.  Maybe it’s time we encouraged people to be more revolting.

Wednesday, August 8th .....

I’m reading a book at the moment called Finders Keepers by Belinda Bauer.  It’s nothing startling: a fairly typical police procedural but one part did make me draw breath.  Describing a reporter, Ms Bauer produced this extraordinary paragraph:

The third thing that made her formidable was that she was Australian – to which there was no defence. It made her bold enough to doorstep the most hostile of targets, thick-skinned enough to deflect the most brutal of insults, and so whiny that unfaithful politicians, lifelong criminals and hardened police press officers routinely crumbled before her – preferring exposure, censure and even jail to another minute of her nasal, mosquito-in-the-ear wheedling.

Well, that’s telling us!

I really had mixed feelings about the author but I’m now hooked and will look for her stuff again.

I’ve been whinging about the Olympics but I can’t resist watching it, even if I have to put up with the rubbish being spouted by the so-called commentators.  I know it’s hard to fill all those hours with genuine and interesting comment (and I couldn’t do it) but it’s hard sifting through the dross for the occasional glimmer of gold.  However, I turned on this morning to see Sally Pearson’s race and was enthralled by the best interview I’ve seen yet in this Olympiad.  Mark Nicholas knew what he was talking about, showed just the right amount of delight in Sally’s success and drew a terrific picture of her journey to this point.  And he’s a pom!  Our people could learn a lot from his professional attitude.

Thursday, August 2nd .....

I haven’t got myself involved in the Olympics this year as much as I have in the past.  I’m not sure why, but I think it has something to do with all the hype, all the unreasonable expectations of the athletes and the appalling medal count.  I’m sure Baron de Coubertin didn’t have this in mind when he resurrected the Games in 1896.  In fact his initial idea was to improve education by developing a focus on exercise. He later broadened this to suggest that sport could bring peace to the world.   He said:

Let us export our oarsmen, our runners, our fencers into other lands. That is the true Free Trade of the future; and the day it is introduced into Europe the cause of Peace will have received a new and strong ally.

Another reason I’m a bit off the Games is the inanity of the commentators.  On the first day I heard someone (maybe Fast Eddie) talk about one of the Australian teams as ‘a pelaton of potential’.  Huh!  Creative use of language is a good thing; creative abuse is another thing entirely.

Yesterday, at the finish of the Men’s Rowing Eights, won by Germany, the talented commentator talked about ‘a top-class germinate’.  I thought I was watching Gardening Australia.  However, the best one came in a judo match.  Close to the finish the Australian was leading a fellow from Georgia 10 points to 1.  The Georgian was striving manfully to throw the Australian to the ground and the commentator said, ‘it doesn’t matter how many yukos he gets, he really needs a waza-ari.’  Wonderful!

It’s going to become my new mantra for life:  It doesn’t matter how many yukos I get, I’ll always strive for a waza-ari.

Tuesday, July 31st .....

I’ve already had a bit of a whinge about the Tasmanian weather in a previous post but the reality is that nothing much can be done about it and life just has to accommodate it.  Certainly an effective heater, warm clothes and good soup help to mitigate the problem but, if you life in Tasmania you have to accept, at some point, scraping ice off the windscreen, cold sniffly noses and numb fingers.

The usual Tasmanian response to the first of the icy blasts is to leave and I suspect there are more Tasmanians in Surfers Paradise in July than in Hobart.  That’s not even counting the Grey Nomads who flock like seagulls to the sun.  The habit becomes so entrenched that many Tasmanians retire to the Gold Coast expecting it to be one long holiday but, of course, it’s not.  It doesn’t take long before they start to miss their friends and familiar neighbourhoods and come back with their tails between their legs.

Anyway, we’re starting to miss the sun and decided to have a cruise to charge us up with a dose of Vitamin D.  We’re on the Pacific Dawn, sailing out of Brisbane on Saturday, 25^th August for a week in the South Pacific.  Brisbane was really the only option in August as everything else was booked out but it will give us a chance to see Madeleine before we set sail.

Another idea we looked at was a week on the Sunshine Coast or in North Queensland but, by the time we paid for the accommodation, all the meals, etc, it was a much easier option to go cruising, so it’s all arranged.  We fly direct to Brisbane on August 24^th, will have dinner with Madeleine and join the cruise on the 25^th, returning on September 1^st.  It should be lots of fun.

Sunday, July 29th .....

I finally watched the Olympics Opening Ceremony and didn’t it go on forever!  There were lots of high points but I think it dragged on a bit in some places.  I liked the introduction with the children’s choirs from the four ‘kingdoms’ – it was a bit disconcerting to see one of the Scottish singers, clearly of African origin singing his heart out  - ‘who fought and died furr ye’r wee bit hill and glen’, in his best Scottish accent.

There were lots of kids in the ceremony but am I the only one who cringes when he sees children expected to perform in their pyjamas?  I know there might be times when it fits the context but it’s just a bit sleazy for me.  I have visions of dirty old men furtively recording the performance for future viewing.

The concept of transforming the idyllic English countryside into the Industrial Revolution was brilliant – the way the chimneys rose out of the ground was fantastic and the clumsy dancing of the mill owners was great.  Again, there were so many elements, it was hard to notice everything and I’m sure some ideas just passed me by.  I was embarrassed when Sir Paul Mccartney got out of sync at the beginning of his song but I suppose that’s life.

Who would have thought they would feature the music from Chariots of Fire?  What could have been a sorry cliché was saved by the involvement of Rowan Atkinson, the man with the rubber face.  Hijacking the famous scene where Eric Liddell, Harold Abrahams and others ran through the waves was a delight.  To me, this was the epitome of British humour at its best.  I gather the organisers decided to shorten the ceremony and part of that was deleting BMX riders.  Thank goodness for that!

The lighting of the cauldron was also terrific.  It seems that Olympic organisers have to try to outdo each other in their method of lighting the cauldron.  Who could forget the arrow at Barcelona or Cathy Freeman wading across a pool of water at the Sydney Games?  The idea at London of not, in fact, having a cauldron but constructing it on site during the ceremony will be hard to beat (but I’m sure somebody will try in the future).

Like many others I watch the game to see top athletes doing their best and, although I like to see Australia win, I don’t want to see interminable replays of our successes at the expense of whatever else is going on.  It was marvellous that the Women’s Relay won and there are terrific stories in that success, but I think it’s been replayed every half hour since then.  And I’m also disappointed that WIN has the contract to broadcast the Games in Australia.  We see and hear too much of Eddie McGuire and Karl Stefanovic as it is without having them in our faces while we try to enjoy the performances of the world’s best.  There are some top sports commentators in Australia but Eddie and Karl ain’t among them. And what sort of twit is Leila McKinnon, commenting that the Queen had seen everything in her 60-year reign and that’s why she was looking bored?

Oh, well, that’s only Day 1; there’s a whole lot still to happen.

Saturday, July 28th .....

I got up this morning to watch the Opening Ceremony of the Olympic Games.  I missed the spectacle part but was just in time to see the parade of athletes.  What a waste of time this is!  The other day I saw a replay of the entry of athletes at the Melbourne Olympics in 1956 and everyone was immaculatelyy dressed and marched shoulder-to-shoulder in precise lines.  And most peoeple were of a similar height, which is also tidier.  Nowadays you've got basketballers mixing with people who are smaller.  Not a good look!  Today's entrances are a shambles with athletes sky-larking and mucking around.  You'd think the Games were about them. 

I've just got used to the new countries which have appeared in recent years - Kazakhstan, Slovenia, Uzbekhistan and so on, but now there's a whole new lot I never knew existed.  Apparently, Cape Verde become a sovereign country in the 1970's but I must have missed that.  I've heard of the Cape Verde Islands, of course, but didn't realise it was a country in its own right.  And Comoros - broke away from France in the 1960's and is now independent.  I missed that, too.

These little countries concern me.  Without significant natural resources or great tourism potential, how do they survive?  I can understand the driving need for independence from an oppresive overlord but at what cost.  I suspect that this push in the past 65 years for countries to break apart might be balanced in the next century by amicable amalgamations of neighbouring states.  Sometimes bigger is better.  Let's start the process by joining hands with New Zealand, Papua-New Guinea, and the Solomon Islands and becoming the Federated States of Oceania.  Maybe Tuvalu, Kiribas and Vanuatu might be interested, too.

Friday, July 27th .....

I had a meeting this morning with a farmer who is also involved in sheep dog training.  It was very foggy when I arrived at his farm and I had to paddle through mud (and other stuff) in his driveway before I reached the house.  I was welcomed by the barking of his eight sheep dogs.  I am helping him put together an application for a grant to help organise sheepdog  trials in conjunction with the Craft Fair in 2013.

I’ve seen sheepdog  trials on TV and in real life but I had no idea of the importance sheepdog training still has in the work of the modern sheep farmer.  Michael, the farmer, tells me that he runs training sessions across Tasmania and has no trouble finding candidates.  Many are young people training to be shepherds, but some are just people who have a couple of acres and a few pet sheep to keep the grass down.  Training a dog is a great hobby.

The trials run over the four days of the Craft Fair and need about 250 sheep, which they borrow from local farms.  Each dog gets three fresh sheep to work, then they are taken back to the farm.  The animals are worth about $200 each, and the farmer provides them at no charge, so they’re looked after very well.

Michael also talked about how farmers are becoming more interested in understanding how sheep think (not very deeply, I would have thought).  It used to take three men to load sheep into a truck, using sheer physical force.  Now, a NZ farmer has invented a 1200mm long ramp which the sheep have to cross as they approach the truck.  Once they reach the top of the ramp and put their front legs down, they are in an uncomfortable position so bring their rear legs down as well.  To keep their balance, they have to move forward and find themselves in the truck - no problem.

He had lots of other stories about handling sheep and cattle, and the problems farmer have in growing crops.  He used to grow potatoes for McCains but gave it up because of the damage being done to the soil.  After five or six consecutive crops, he said that the soil was like concrete and it would take seven years of nurturing to get it back to a reasonable condition.  And all the time McCains is pushing to reduce the contract price so that it becomes hardly viable.  One of the reasons that McCains is moving its production to New Zealand is that they’ll be starting the cycle with a new group of farmers who haven’t experienced the heartbreak of seeing the destruction of their land so that MacDonalds can sell their fries at a rock-botttom price.  The farmer might get $200 per tonne of potatoes; by the time they are processed, cooked and served, they bring in $3000 per tonne.  If 5c were added to the cost of a price of a bag of MacDonalds fries, McCains could afford to pay the farmer an extra $50 per tonne and we would have more people staying in the industry.