Saturday, December 17

After our Manchester marathon of TV shows, I looked around for something different and came across From Darkness. The blurb said it was set in the Western Isles. That sounded interesting: exotic islands with names like Rhum and Eigg. Maybe the accents would be a problem but worth a look.

You wouldn't believe it - within ten minutes, she is on her way to Manchester to get involved in a twenty year old murder. Manchester again! My cousin lives near Manchester; I wonder if she realises that she lives in the crime capital of the UK.

Life is quiet as we count down to Christmas. Jamie and Nera are hosting the Filipino Christmas Party on Christmas Eve and have already started to prepare. Nera is working today and tomorrow so Jamie will be starting to cook. Part of the celebration is the Media Noche or Midnight Feast and there are lots of traditional dishes to be prepared.

This will be a big event with many kids. There will be games and people will bring tents and sleeping bags, so having the larger space will be helpful.

Wednesday, December 14 (2)

One of the things we missed at Dilston was not getting catalogues in our letter-box. It's a small thing, I know, but catalogues keep you abreast of how much things cost and what is trending in the commercial world. Years ago, JB HiFi and Harvey Norman were full of ads for laptop computers; now it's Fitbit bracelets and Smart Watches. They're not cheap but clearly some people can't live without them.

Now that we're living in Newnham, I can't believe how many catalogues arrive every week, so many that I've got over the idea and they go straight into the bin.

The other things that I used to enjoy but now find a nuisance are free magazines. We get them every month from Rotary and Probus, RACT and National Seniors. We get something called Prime Time and various others from odd places. Even Princess Cruises sends a glossy booklet every few weeks. Again, I'm bored with them. Once upon a time they had informative articles; now they're full of ads for holidays. Everything's marketing nowadays, isn't it!

Wednesday, December 14

I don't know whether it's coincidence or synchronicity. Marilyn and I have just finished watching a UK TV mini-series called Prey. It was pretty good although we struggle a bit with the accents which turned out to be Manchester. Funnily enough, this is the third series in a row which was set in Manchester.

Scott and Bailey was the first, followed by Blue Murder and now Prey. I had no idea that Manchester was such a hotbed of crime.

We found ourselves in Mole Creek yesterday, at the hotel enjoying the Probus Christmas Lunch. It was a good, old-fashioned pub lunch so Marilyn and I took the chance to have the Roast of the Day. She had turkey; I had lamb.

Tuesday, December 13

My word of the week is fatberg. This is not a word I can imagine using every day but it has a certain ring to it. Fatbergs are clumps of non-flushable items that coalesce with fat and oils to form sewer-blocking clogs.

Water authorities blame so-called 'flushable' wipes for causing fatbergs and they're becoming a problem. In February a one-tonne fatberg took out the pumping station near Lake Macquarie and had to be partially removed by hand, bucket by bucket.

I don't think I'm paranoid but the thought of some huge gelatinous mass lurking underneath my toilet bowl has the potential to keep me awake at night.

Friday, December 9

I’ve really enjoyed the book, ‘The Short and Excruciatingly Embarrassing Reign of Captain Abbott’ by Andrew P Street.  It’s cheeky, irreverent and scathing of the extraordinary few months of the Abbott Experiment.  Of course, it’s not only Tony who gets the treatment; many of his Cabinet get short shrift as well, and the Labor side doesn’t do much better.   I would love to quote great chunks of it but I’ll content myself with a couple of paragraphs from the final chapters.

‘It’s easy to pretend that there was a golden era of Australian politics when we had real leaders and people were concerned about nation-building and Australian values and forging a national identity and other meaningless phrases that are all but spoken in italics. Conservative Australian types get misty-eyed about the Robert Menzies epoch, while lefties canonise Gough Whitlam, and both are endlessly cited as periods when Australia was led by men of vision and principle, unlike the sorry specimens we have before us today.

And it’s arse.

Politics in Australia – as in every country – has always and forever been a slippery dance conducted by manipulative snakes, utopian idealists, hardline ideologues and power-hungry careerists looking to exert power and/or line their pockets, mixed in with dedicated, principled people genuinely interested in making a positive contribution to their country.  And right now, with Australia’s two major parties basically offering a choice between more of the same and a bit less of the same, the citizenry could be forgiven for thinking that these are the only choices on offer’.

He goes on to outline his vision for better governance but I think he has missed the point that we, the people, have already woken up to the 2-party system and are starting to vote for something else. Sadly, the extreme Right have been quickest off the mark and are grabbing the protest vote but we can only hope that some other more moderate voices start to fill the void.

Thursday, December 8

Who could resist this ad. on Launceston Buy Swap and Sell.

Hey, anybody want to buy my ute? A bit rough but only
$2500 ....

Tuesday, December 6

Well, our hard-working politicians have all gone home for their summer break and for many it's a chance to catch up on their reading. You wouldn't think that anyone would be interested in what they choose, although, if they had a preference for Lolita of Lady Chatterley's Lover, we might raise an eyebrow.

I suppose it's a good thing that our pollies read, and that should be encouraged, but do we have to buy their books for them? Surely they could use public libraries like the rest of us. Or maybe we could get them a cheap ebook reader and download what they fancy.

George Brandis, of course, takes maximum advantage of this perk. We built him a bookcase for his office at a cost of $15000 then, when he moved offices, we had to build him another one because the original was too large to move. No IKEA modular for George! And he is assiduously making every effort to fill the shelves, at our expense.

Among the purchases George has made, and we have paid for, this year is a collection about the ill-fated Abbott government. The collection includes Credlin and Co by Aaron Patrick, Road to Ruin by Nikki Sava and the wonderfully named The Short and Excruciatingly Embarrassing Reign of Captain Abbott by Andrew Street. They're all in our local library and available to borrow for nothing.

George was a Senior Minister in that government which is pretty well rubbished by the books so I can't imagine he will enjoy his holiday reading.

Thursday, December 1

This Jimmy Barnes autobiography is horrendous. The Scottish immigrants clearly brought their problems with them and their lives were ruled by excess drinking and fighting, interspersed with maudlin sentimentality along the lines of 'It was better in Scotland'. And their kids were worse. The middle chapters of the book are a litany of the appalling gang fights around the Elizabeth area. It was nothing less than urban terrorism.

Robert Menzies obviously made a mistake in allowing these people into Australia. I wonder why our current Immigration Minister hasn't commented on it.

Thursday, December 1

I don't think I'm a conspiracy theorist but I am cynical about the motives of big business who are inclined to put profit above everything else. A good example of underhand business practice came up on QI this morning.

They were talking about whether banning smoking on planes has made flying more healthy. You would think so but it may not be the case ( I realise I'm channeling Stephen Fry's voice when I write a sentence like that).

in the old days, when it was legal to smoke on a flight, the air conditioning was set to completely replace the air in the cabin every 3 minutes. Now, airlines have turned down the system and passengers are lucky if they get a mixture of fresh and recycled air every 6 minutes. And the cabin air now carries more germs for a longer period. There's a significant saving in fuel costs for the airlines so that's alright then.

Wednesday, November 30 (3)

I've given up watching Question Time in Parliament; I just can't tolerate the waste of public money on such a futile exercise, apart from the shallow rudeness from all participants. Apparently a new low was reached today when a mob of spectators glued their hands to the rails in the public gallery.

The most ironic comment came from the Speaker, Tony Smith (who does a pretty good job dealing with the rabble). With a perfectly straight face he said, 'This endangered the dignity of the House'. Dignity? Sorry, Tony, dignity sank without trace years ago.

Wednesday, November 30 (2)

It was tragic to see the forlorn look on the beleaguered Japanese skating rink owner who watched his dreams for the future going down the drain. He must have been wondering how he could have thought it a good idea to freeze hundreds of dead fish in the ice that his customers were skating on.

He wailed that he wanted to offer an unusual experience for his patrons and the feeling of travelling along with the inhabitants of the oceans. So he purchased lots of different varieties from the local fish markets. He admitted that many were past their use-by-date so, not only were they dead fish, they were smelly dead fish.

You have to applaud initiative but, unfortunately, this was an initiative whose time has not yet come.

On a personal note, Marilyn came home from hospital yesterday, but has gone back into day surgery this morning to get a small plate implanted in her little finger. We have hired a wheelchair for her because she is pretty immobile. It's a bugger when things start to go wrong.

Wednesday, November 30

I've just started reading Jimmy Barnes's biography, Working Class Boy. I had been looking forward to reading it becausevI thought I would relate to his childhood. Like me, he grew up in a working class family in post-war Scotland. I hadn't got past the first few chapters before I realised we could have been brought up on different planets.

Yes, there were similarities. We both grew up in tenement buildings and suffered the food shortages that followed the war in Britain, for example. Jimmy grew up in a rough area of Glasgow; I lived in Blantyre just a few miles away. He talked about the gangs and the fighting while I can only remember that we were able to walk to and from school with no problems. He could only remember that it was always cold; I recall playing in the park and visiting holiday places like Rothesay and Largs.

But it was in the attitude of our parents that the real difference lay. My parents were ambitious for us and determined that we would have a productive life. Jimmy's parents were feckless, more interested in their social life than anything else. Above all, my father didn't drink. Drinking is the Scottish disease and Jimmy's father was an alcoholic. Every pay day saw him in the pub drinking away all that he had earned. There was never enough money to provide for the normal needs of his family.

Jimmy was only 5 years old when he arrived in Australia so you have to question the validity of his memories but certainly his stories reflect a real element of Scotland at the time. The fact that he came through it is a credit to him; you wonder how many didn't survive the traumas of the sort of childhood he describes.

Tuesday, November 22

I don't usually respond to stuff on the Internet. Occasionally, I might 'like' something or share it but I don't want to be swept up in some on-going exchange so my practice is to read and ignore. However, the other day I was challenged to complete a quiz and, in a moment of hubris, I fooliishly clicked the button to share my score.

Within hours, the robo-posters sprang into action and my Newsfeed was inundated with more quizzes: music, words, geography, and what have you. I knew it would happen and I have to try harder to remember that it's not worth it.

Monday, November 21

As if I didn't get enough rubbish on my Facebook page, Nera has enrolled me in a group called Launceston Buy, Swap and Sell. Now I get dozens of posts every day from people trying to sell something. It might be funny if there weren't so many sad stories.

The other day someone was trying to sell a second-hand pair of sneakers for $10 ono. Another one was trying to get rid of two DVDs for $5. I suppose it could be a good way of shifting stolen goods but it's better not to think about that. One strange thing I have noticed: many sellers don't know the difference between bought and brought. Someone might say, " I brought it from Kmart", or , "I only brought it last week." It's not just an occasional lapse; it's the norm.

There was one interesting ad the other day. Someone was offering to collect purchases and deliver them for a small fee. They would also collect from Fantastic Furniture or anywhere else who didn't offer free delivery. As we're changing houses with Jamie and Nera, and had a couple of things to move from Dilston, Marilyn suggested we give them a go.

Two young women turned up in a ute. They were clearly strong and not afraid of hard work, so we asked them to quote on moving Jamie and Nera's QS bed and chest of drawers from Newnham to Dilston, and bring back our QS bed and treadmill. $60, they said. Unbelievable! Obviously, Marilyn gave them a generous tip and we've put their telephone number in a very safe place.

Sunday, November 20

There was an interesting article by Jonathan Freedland in The Guardian this week, suggesting that the current rise of the Right is not being countered effectively by the rest of us. He uses Brexit as an example. He says, do we believe that, if the Leave campaign had lost, they would just have withdrawn and accepted the result? Oh, no, they would have taken heart that nearly half of the UK's population wanted a change and there would have been rioting in the streets.

In the US, if Donald Trump were in Hilary Clifton's position, having gained more than 1 million more votes than his opponent and still lost the nomination, would he have just politely accepted the decision? Would he be a model of politeness and fairness? Not bloody likely.

The point of the article is the suggestion that the voices of reason need to be more ruthless. There's discontent all over the world and there will always be opportunists willing to take advantage of it. We're not immune in Australia and it's about time our leaders addressed the problem.

Saturday, November 19

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Saturday, November 19

I called in to buy a loaf of bread today: just a plain white bread to make a sandwich. You would think that would be easy but I had to wade through the Soy and Linseed, Wholemeal, Five Grain, Nine Grain, Rye and so on, before I came to the White Section. But almost every loaf was Sourdough! When did Sourdough become Flavour of the Month? I'm told it doesn't have yeast in it; instead it's made with a little bit of yesterday's dough to help it rise.

How can that be a good thing? Starting off with yesterday's dough means you start off with a certain level of staleness, and it's not called sourdough for nothing.

I love Poached Eggs but the norm now is for restaurants to serve them on 'Home-made' Sourdough Bread. Can't they see that beautiful soft, runny yolk does not go with hard-crusted, semi-stale bread? And when I ask for traditional sliced bread, the waitress looks at me as if I am a Philistine?

Friday, November 18

With time on my hands, I've taken to downloading podcasts which I listen to in the car or when I'm on the computer. My all-time favourite is Richard Fidler but I'm always on the lookout for other options. In the last couple of weeks, I've discovered Desert Island Discs which ran on the BBC for 70 years.

They've had a number of presenters over the years but the most recent is Kirsty Young who has a beautiful, soft Scottish voice. Unlike Richard Fidler, who draws his guests from all levels of society, Kirsty's guests are mostly well-spoken, often toffee-nosed and sometimes quite pleased with themselves. Their music choices are usually severely classical. I suppose the difference in the two programs reflects the difference between the Australian and English societies.

One of Kirsty's guests I heard recently was Armando Iannucci. Despite his name, he was born in Glasgow, and is the creator of a terrific TV series called The Thick of It. It's the modern version of Yes Minister (with a lot more swearing). For political junkies, it's a must.

Poor Marilyn is in hospital. She had a fall and has broken her ankle in two places, also broken a couple of ribs and bones in her hand. I don't know when she'll be home but I hope it is soon.

Tuesday, October 18

Marilyn commented the other day that she had an odd email stating cheerfully that she had won a prize. 'It's a scam,' I said. Marilyn wasn't sure as it mentioned that she had spun a wheel, and she remembered doing this. So, she responded by sending them our address. After all, what could go wrong?

Nothing, apparently, as the $250 worth of gift vouchers duly arrived. So, we're now scouring the shelves of the Reject Shop for all the things we have always wanted but haven't been able to afford.

My recovery continues and I'm attending Physio three days a week. It is certainly making a difference and I'm back to driving, which I am ticking off as an important milestone.

Sunday, October 9

We had planned to go with our Probus Club to visit the Emu River Rhododendron Garden which is near Burnie, about a two-hour drive from Launceston. The weather forecast was promising so Jamie and Nera decided to join us, especially when I agreed that Nera could drive. I think that they're becoming bored waiting for Nera's registration certificate to arrive so she can start work, and will take any opportunity for a change of scene.

Nera completed her conversion course in nursing very successfully and has already been offered a job in Hobart but she can't start until she has the piece of paper in her hand. In any case, they're not sure Hobart is the right move; staying in Launceston or a move to Melbourne are two other possibilities.

The Rhododendron Garden is rated 4th best in the world (reminds me of the beach in Japan which is rated the 86th best). It's on 11 Ha and is fantastic. It rained all day (forecasting Tasmanian weather is not always easy) but it was a great day. Nera and Jamie had three cameras on the go, so there are lots of pictures.

This evening, we were winding down in front of the TV when there was an almighty racket outside. The wind had got up, and a panel on the roof of the carport had come loose and was clattering up and down, disturbing the neighborhood. So, there we were, Marilyn and I, in the wind and rain, me up a ladder while Marilyn passed me the heaviest logs we could find on the wood heap, hoping that their weight would anchor the roof until the morning. It's less than 7 weeks since my stroke and I don't know whether I should tell the Physiotherapist or not.

Saturday, October 7

I've been very lazy over the past couple of weeks and there has been so much to write about. Donald Trump lurches from one idiocy to another, but nothing seems to faze his followers, proving that you can certainly fool a lot of the people a lot of the time.

Malcolm Turnbull continues to unravel, and George Christensen is enjoying his time in the sun, making every post a winner. This fellow was only elected with a few thousand votes yet he promotes his minority point of view as if he had the backing of the whole country.

The blackout in South Australia encouraged a few die-hards to show their true colours. For a while now, the bi-partisan mantra has been 'renewables good' but some couldn't resist the opportunity to use the disaster to spout their own reactionary ideas.

Sam Dastyari leaves under a cloud, Stephen Conroy leaves under cover of darkness and Stuart Robert goes on his merry unethical way. Wyatt Roy returns from his Boy's Own Adventure and seems surprised at all the fuss.

I enjoyed Howard on Menzies but was disappointed with how superficial it all was, very polite and respectful with not enough made of his 'British-to-the-bootstraps' manner or his shameful decision to go into the Vietnam War. I can't remember whether his nickname, 'Pig-iron Bob' was even mentioned. Growing up in Wollongong, I was aware of that epithet from a very early age.

This week, we've been delighted with the antics of a handful of well-heeled, well-educated louts reinforcing Australia's reputation as a nation of hard-drinking louts. These are not stupid kids; they're all in their late-20s and should have more sense and respect. The worrying thing is some have their sights on a political career. One is already a Senior Advisor to Christopher Pyne, a position that was created especially for him!

Just think, in 20 years time, we'll be faced with Wyatt Roy as PM and the Budgy Nine on the front bench. Maybe Stuart Robert will be Speaker of the House.

Tuesday, September 13

This should be my last day ihere in hospital. It's been three weeks and I feel I'm becoming institutionalised like a long-term prisoner. But the end is in sight. Marilyn will pick me up tomorrow morning and we'll go straight to Longford to help Madeleine celebrate here 21st birthday.

it's still early here as I write this and the hospital is srarting to come to life. It's certainly hard to sleep in, especially after the cleaners arrive. I used to think it was the Matron who ran the hospital or the Ward Sisters, but it's the cleaners. They have the right to go where they like, when they like and woe betide any patient who gets in the way of their polishing machines.

And they're so loud! Of course, some of the nurses are no better. My room-mate rang his bell at 5 this morning to get some help to go to the toilet. The nurse on duty arrives and cheerfully bellows, 'What's up, darlin'?' Well, that's my sleep over. It's great to see that young female bogans see nursing as a good career choice but maybe their training should include keepin their voice down.

Sunday, September 4

it was a special day today ... I escaped the hospital for a couple of hours to celebrate Father's Day with 3 generations of Christie women: Marilyn, Madeleine and Macie. I trundled my walker across the road to Aromas and enjoyed a very welcome lunch.

But all good things come to an end and I was soon back in the ward waiting for my carefully calorie- and taste-controlled hospital dinner to arrive. A lot of the dishes have exotic and enticing names but they all have a grey sameness about them. I must say I am impressed with the system they have for serving the food. All the meals are prepared off-site in some vast impersonal kitchen. Individual trays are brought to the hospital about an hour before meal time and put in an elaborate refrigerator. At some point a timers clicks on and half of each tray is heated up while the other half (with dessert and so on) stays cold.

Fifty minutes later a bell rings and the elves roll out the meals to the waiting patients. The system doesn't make the food taste any better but it's a clever use of technology and is probably cheaper.

August 3

Today is day 11 of my visit to hospital. On weekdays, I'm busy with Physio so time passes but today is Saturday and time drags. The fellow in the next bed has pneumonia and is really struggling. In fact, everybody here seems to be at death's door so, but if I wasn't depressed before, I'm very glum now.

The routine of four-hourly 'obs' is tedious and my fingers are sore with all the punctures of blood sugar testing. I feel like a fraud; I need to exercise my right leg and hand but I'm not sick. I can't see why I'm taking up a hospital bed which might be better utilised by some other poor soul.

Marilyn comes in every day which is great. I tell her to go home but she tells me she doesn't like the emptiness of the house. Clearly I'm good for something even if it's only to provide company. I suppose after 50 years you get used to each other.

Monday, August 29

There's always something happening in a hospital. I'm in a 4-bed ward with three other men. One seems OK but the other two are sad cases. One sleeps most of the time but in the evening he wakes up and keeps everyone on their toes, tryingto get out of bed and complaining. His long-suffering wife sits watching him sleep hour afafter hour.

The fellow opposite is called Norm. He's only a couple of years older than me but looks 100. He spends his time staring into space. When the lights go out he starts a long monologue full of swear words, complaining about being ignored by everyone.

The third fellow just gets on with his life, not drawing attention to himself. He only has one bad habit: in the afternoon , he likes to listen to the races on his radio, so we all have to listen to the races!

The hospital has a big staff. There's one flying squad of beefy men called 'the boys' who help out with patients who can't turn over. Every now and then, one of the nurses will call for 'the boys' and they rush in like the Spanish Inquisition (and nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!). Drag the curtains around the bed and carry out their rituals in secret. Then they rush out again.

Saturday, August 27th

It's coming up to 5 o'clock and I'm approaching my 90th hour in hospital. Late on Tuesday afternoon, I felt a bit strange. Things got progressively worse and Marilyn finally insisted on ringing an ambulance. It seems I've had a stroke and am now set up in the specialist stroke unit of the Launceston General Hospital. My problems are centred in my right arm and leg but my speech and cognition have not been affected. I expect to be here for another week at least.

Sadly, we've had to cancel our trip to the Philippines and Thailand in October. I'm confident that I will have improved enormously by then but we had planned to be away for three months, and that's too ambitious. Best to postpone until we see how things unfold.

it's difficult to type with the 'wrong' hand so I'll keep my posts short.

Thursday, August 18

I heard this morning that 'Vietnamese authorities' have cancelled the celebrations for the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Long Tan.  Disappointing for the thousands of people who have travelled there from Australia but not surprising, I suppose.  It's a big cheeky (and insensitive) to rub their noses in what, to them, was a crushing defeat.  Anzac Day on the Gallipoli Peninsula is different; we lost that battle so our commemoration there is about the dreadful loss of life.  Crowing about a victory while the Vietnamese look on is a whole different ball-game.

Harry Smith, the OIC at Long Tan was interviewed yesterday on radio.  Here's a man who has never forgotten.  Oblivious to political correctedness, he talked about looking forward to meeting 'the enemy' on friendly terms and having lunch with 'the enemy' and so on.  Last time I looked they are now our friends, but old habits die hard.

One of the good things about the TV coverage is that we are treated to multiple playings of the Redgum song, I Was Only 19.  This is one of the great anti-war songs, right up there with The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.

I've resisted talking about the Census debacle but I have to repeat one comment I heard the other day.  Somebody on radio was saying: Mr Turnbull is making the job look so hard!  The on-going incompetence of some of his ministers, the constant niggling from the Abetz gang, and the attention-seeking of the cross-bench senators would make the task of getting up in the morning really hard.  It's certainly true that when the crew is off its game, things go wrong.

Wednesday, August 17

This idea of Christmas in Winter is getting out of hand. Last night was our third contrived mock-Christmas celebration this year and, even though it was good fun, we hardly need an excuse to eat a roast dinner and wear a funny paper hat. Last night was organised by our Rotary club as a social occasion but with the underlying intent of putting some cash in the pockets of the Mole Creek Hotel which has been doing it tough since the recent floods frightened the tourists away. Apparently, some 50000 tourists explore the Mole Creek Caves in a normal year but a couple of the better caverns were flooded and have been closed.

The cash our group of 50 contributed must have been welcome, but It's just a drop in the bucket, really.

At out first Yuletide celebration, back in July, we were informed that the idea of a mid-year Christmas came from the clever burghers of Katoomba and Leura in the Blue Mountains looking for a way to attract tourists when there was snow on the ground. This was back in the 1980's so it's only taken 30 years for it to become a tradition.

Saturday, July 22

Fascinating people the North Koreans and their late night radio shows must be a delight. Certain people who are paid to monitor such things intercepted a strange message the other night.

Commencing now, I will give review work for the subject of mathematics under the curriculum of a remote education university for exploration agents of the 27th bureau. On page number 459, number 35, on page 913, number 55, on page 135, number 85, on page 257, number 2.

What could it mean? The best suggestion is that it is a coded message to spies or sleeper agents in South Korea. Or an esoteric North Korean version of Sudoko. John Le Carre would have been so proud that his legacy is alive and well.

Monday, July 11 (2)

So, we have a new government. Sadly, of all the possible outcomes, we have probably ended up with the worst. We seem to be stuck with a disunited mob with a minimal majority, forced to deal with a revitalised ALP with wind in its sails and a motley crew of senators all anxious to promote their own narrow agendas.

Who would want Malcolm's job? The Murdoch papers this week have been full of calls for Malcolm to resign, and the conservatives are demanding that Mr Abbott be recalled, even if only for a Cabinet position. The Conservative commentators smell blood and are becoming more strident in their calls to be listened to. And the Nationals are demanding another ministry since they have taken a seat from the Liberals. It's a recipe for another three years of stagnation.

Does Malcolm have the character to hold it all together? I fervently hope so.

Monday, July 11

Now that the new Government has been decided the AEC is getting on with the counting of the votes in the Senate and I am delighted to say that Tasmania is showing some remarkable sophistication in choosing who they would like to represent them.

Both the ALP and Liberal party machines misused their power when they published their list of candidates. The ALP selectors demoted Lisa Singh, a sitting senator, to the number 6 position, probably because she spoke out against the ALP policy on asylum seekers. The Liberal party placed Richard Colbeck, the Minister for Tourism, in the vulnerable number 5 spot, apparently because he was the only Tasmanian MP who voted for Malcolm Turnbull in the leadership coup.

However, instead of blindly following the party line, many Tasmanians chose to vote below the line, giving their first preference to either Lisa or Richard. Good on them! Democracy in action.

On today's figures, Lisa is likely to be elected and Richard is still in with a chance. In fact, one report is that he received more #1 votes than Eric Abetz. I don't think the Age of Dinosaurs is over yet, but it is starting to look a little shaky.

Friday, July 8

Now that the cold weather is here, I went looking for my winter clothes. Hat, scarves and gloves were easy, the jumpers turned up and lightweight jackets, but two heavy jackets, suitable for the bleak days in the dead of winter could not be found.

They usually hibernated for the summer in a plastic box under our bed but that box no longer existed. I had a bit of a search in our shed but with no success so I was at the point of deciding it was time for a Kathmandhu down jacket I had been lusting after for some time. The $400 price tag brought me up short so there was nothing for it but a deeper search among the boxes in the shed.

The jackets were finally found, in a small cardboard box along with a single curtain. The jacket I was particularly keen to find was a large cream parka. It was a little grubby so I turned out the pockets before I put it in the wash. And I found a scrunched up receipt dated 18th April, 2013 from Inverness Railway Station in Scotland. At 12.29 that day I bought a cream cheese and bacon bagel, a 4-finger KitKat and an Oat and Raisin Cookie. With a diet like that, it's no wonder I'm so healthy.

The snack must have hit the spot because I remember that I dropped off to sleep and missed changing trains at Perth. I had to travel on to Edinburgh and get a train there to take me to Glasgow.

Thursday, July 7

If our local library doesn't have a particular book on the shelf, they are happy to source it from another branch. These 'holds' as they are called are put on a particular shelf with a slip of paper tucked in with the name of the customer.

I went in today to collect a DVD which Marilyn had ordered; there it was and beside it was a book waiting to be picked up by Michelle Christie. It struck a chord with me because today is the 10th anniversary of the death of our Michelle, nephew Simon's wife and mother of Jack and Ty. Funny how coincidences like this occur. Some might say Spooky.

Wednesday, July 6

Politics really attracts the most unsavoury characters. There was a photograph in yesterdays's Australian of Pauline Hanson with her campaign manager, James Ashby. Hmmm, that's a familiar name. James Ashby is the former Liberal staffer who met with Mal Brough, Wyatt Roy and Christopher Pyne in the process of bringing down former speaker, Peter Slipper, by accusing him of sexual harassment. This claim was subsequently dropped (but doesn't mud stick!) and the only crime for which Mr Slipper was found guilty was rorting his travel allowance by $600. Anybody else making an illegal claim, even if they are a serial offender, is simply allowed to pay it back when they are found out, but Mr Slipper was not given that privilege; he was hounded in the courts and his reputation dragged through the mud.

Well Peter Slipper is gone, Mal Brough is gone, Wyatt Roy is gone, but Christopher Pyne and James Ashby remain. It seems that James has found his niche and Christopher continues to be the darling of the blue-rinse brigade.

Monday, July 4

I know it's unedifying to say 'I told you so', but I did. On March 24th I suggested that Mr Turnbull might have made a tactical error in calling a double dissolution in the hope of getting a more compliant Senate. After a DD, the quota for getting in to the Senate is halved so it opens the door to every ratbag splinter candidate who wants a platform for their point of view. We might have lost Ricky Muir and Glenn Lazarus but we've gained Derryn Hinch and Pauline Hanson! I'd forgotten Pauline was still lurking in the bushes and nothing good can come from her elevation.

it now seems we might have to wait for two weeks before we see the final result. If I were Mr Shorten I would be hoping that things don't change in his favour. Who would want to be Prime Minister in this situation? And I wouldn't be Mr Turnbull for quids. You can hear the knives being sharpened as we speak.

Sunday, July 3

I worked yesterday at the local polling booth and realised I'm starting to feel my age. At the end of the day, I was hobbling like an old man, back and knees aching and brain in lockdown. I blame all the hopefuls who put their hands up to try for a seat in the Senate. The ballot paper, therefore, becomes so unwieldy that it has to be sorted and counted on the floor, no place for a 73 year old with dodgy knees and a hip replacement.

At the end of a very long day, the OIC asked if anyone of us was weary. I was just about to open my mouth to express my feelings, when she reminded us that the answer was No. If we had said Yes, she would have been obliged to send us home in a taxi! Occupational Health and Safety and Duty of Care gone mad.

Dilston is a small polling place with just 8 booths and 2 people handing out ballot papers. However, we still had the stalwarts outside, handing out How to Vote cards. The first of them arrived at 6 in the morning to hang up his banners and he was still there when we shut the doors at 6 in the evening. The oldest volunteers were, as is often the case, representing The Greens. It may be the party most supported by the youth, but the hard yards are being run by their grannies and grand-dads.

When I look now at the mess we're left with after all out hard work, I wonder whether I would have been better to stay in bed. I feel my efforts are only encouraging them. Still, the wages I earned will fund the Thailand to Malaysia leg of our big trip at the end of the years.

Monday, June 27

Because I'm working at the election next weekend, I've signed an agreement that I will not comment on the workings of the AEC or Australian politics in general.  It's not easy being neutralised but I'll have to wear it for another 6 days at least.  If  I want to keep my blog ticking over, I'll have to find something else to talk about.  Brexit!

What were they thinking about?  It seems it is the result of a bunch of older poms yearning for the old days of 'Great' Britain and worrying about the increasing immigration from Eastern Europe.  Fair enough, but the days when half the world was coloured pink have gone and younger people don't seem to have the same concerns about immigration as their grandparents and they're the ones who have to live with this decision.

It's interesting that the only world leaders who applaud this decision are Marine le Pen, the French National Front leader, Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump.  Wouldn't their approval make you think you had backed the wrong horse?

So what happens next?  Will Scotland 'veto' the decision as it seems they can, or will it pull out of the Union?  Will Northern Ireland decide the experiment of becoming part of the UK was not worth it and seek reunion with the Republic of Ireland?  Will Bozo Boris become PM?

I think the UK has been suffering from 'relevance deprivation syndrome' since the Second World War and is now thrashing about seeking the importance it once held in world affairs.  It has struggled with the need to accommodate the ideas and points of view of its partners in Europe, many of whom were its enemies in living memory and, like all one-time bullies, it doesn't like being told what to do.  This choice to leave the EU smacks of cutting off one's nose to spite one's face.

Thursday, June 23

There's a tired old joke which members of the Lions Club delight in re-telling to Rotarians whenever the opportunity arises. It goes something like this:

A middle-aged woman is watching David Attenbrough on TV. She turns to her husband and says, "This program says that lions can have sex up to 10 times a day. Now I know why you joined Rotary."

in response, the president of our Rotary Club has written the following poem.

LIONS Lions, so it is said Are quite the performer when they are in bed
Having it off up to ten times a day With time left over to go hunt for prey.
As humble Rotarians we can’t rise to meet
The awesome challenge of this feline feat. But in spite of their gloating , It may be worth noting Their victorious roaring and post-coital snoring
At the end of the day is really quite boring. Not to mention their breath, not unlike manure
That long suffering partners must daily endure.
And then there are claws, that scar you for life Ooh, Who wouldn’t rather be - a Rotarian’s wife.
Rob van der Elst June 2016

Saturday, June 18

I've been reading a book by Bob Ellis and it's a mixture of breathtaking prose, contrived verse and a generous dollop of the type of stirring against the establishment which has made his reputation. There were pages of anecdotes about people I've never heard of and never want to meet as well, so I won't reach the last page.

However, one little rant amused me. In talking about our glorious national anthem, he is not very complimentary calling the tune as banal as Happy Birthday.

Our national anthem, he says ..... 'makes us feel, however slightly, like dickheads. Though 'I Am, You Are, We Are Australians' brings us to tears of pride, especially when sung by children, 'Advance Australia Fair' makes us cringe. And when we stand up for it, we are usually, inwardly, lying.
Every one of the first six lines rings false. We are not young. We are not free. Our soil is not golden. Wealth does not come from toil here, but from birth or short-selling or real estate. And though we are 'girt by sea' so are all islands, and we are an island, and this is scarcely worth noting. And our land does not 'abound with precious gifts', it is two-thirds desert. Unless you count uranium I suppose, and the immensity of coal that is currently choking the planet, it does not abound, it is a desert waste.'

He goes on to recommend a change, maybe not in time for the Rio Olympics, but certainly sooner rather than later.

Sunday, June 12

Thinking back on Scott Ludlam's speech which I commented on yesterday, I realise that I picked a quote which had several levels of meaning.  On the surface, it is a dig at Tony Abbott and, as it happens, oddly prescient.  However, that's not what I saw when I first read it, and it's not the reason I reproduced it. 

In fact, it nicely sums up something which has been lurking in the back of my brain for ages, and becoming more insistent as I get older.  In a nutshell, the things that we think important today won't even be remembered tomorrow.  To take it a step further, I'm starting to believe that today's society is obsessed with wanting everything now to be just right.  Who says c'est la vie any more?   We spend a big part of our lives trying to change our world to better suit what we believe is better.  Part of that is that when we are faced with a perceived problem, we want to sort it out immediately.  Two issues:  a particular situation may only be problem from our point of view, and, whether we're right  or wrong, we're too quick to intervene.  I wonder, for example, if the world would be a worse, or a better, place if we hadn't got involved in WW1.  We wouldn't have lost a generation of young men and there probably wouldn't have been a WW2 if we had let the Kaiser get on with it.  The average peasant in Europe would have just accommodated German rule and got on with their lives, with little or no change to their hopes and aspirations.  And I don't even need to mention George, Tony and John's wonderful adventures in Iraq as an example of the futile 'let's fix it' mentality.

Today, USA is taking sides about whether it will be possible to live with Donald Trump as President.  Maybe, we should just say Que Sera Sera and Let It Be.  I call that the Doris Day/Beatles philosophy.

In Australia, we are getting agitated about whether Tweedledum or Tweedledee will form a government.  In the process, we are setting aside all the values we hold dear: honesty, fairness,

civility, respect, acceptance of another's point of view.  As Scott Ludlam said, whatever government takes office will end up as just another thin greasy layer in the core sample of our political history.  Maybe this is why nearly 1 million young people haven't even bothered to enrol to vote.  Maybe they see it for the futile exercise it is.  As a wise man said, the problem with elections is that, no matter who you vote for, you end up with a bunch of politicians in charge. 

What would happen if they called an election and nobody turned up?

Saturday, June 11

Marilyn and I do like to watch Kitchen Cabinet on ABC and we believe that Annabel Crabb was born to do the job of hosting it.  She has just the right level of charm and humour, and the ability to ask the clever, probing questions which show us what's behind the politician who happens to be the subject of that week's program.  Of course, we can be confused by the conflict between how the pollie appears across the kitchen table, compared how he or she is when they put on the political persona.  Jacqui Lambie is a good example: on the show she came over as warm and human but, on Q and A a couple of nights later, she was back to the bombastic, simplistic Tasmanian we've come to know and love.

This week, the guest was Scott Ludlam, the Western Australian Greens Senator.  We don't hear much about him but, apparently, he has gained some notoriety because of a 2014 speech he made in the Senate late one night.  At the time, there was only one other Senator in attendance and you can bet she wasn't listening, so Scott spoke to an essentially empty room.  The speech was less than 8 minutes long but has 'gone viral' on YouTube.  Not many speeches made after 10pm by a little-known senator even get reported let alone attract any attention at all.

It took the form of a welcome to PM Tony Abbott when he was visiting Western Australia just before the 2014 election, and encouraged him to be careful of what 'baggage' he brought with him.  There's a transcript on the internet but one paragraph is worth recording here.

' Just as the reign of the dinosaurs was cut short to their great surprise, it may be that the Abbott government will appear as nothing more than a thin, greasy layer in the core sample of future political scientists drilling back into the early years of the 21st century.'

I wish I could write like that.

Friday, June 10

I've been trying to fill the extra leisure time generated by the bad weather to catch up on some of the political books written over the past few years so I picked up The Stalking of Julia Gillard from the library.  I took it to bed last night hoping to read a chapter of two before I turned out the light.

To my surprise, I had to close if after just a few pages; I just couldn't cope with the subject matter and it's gone back to the library this morning.

It was such a low point in our political history, when the bullies took over the playground and the rest of the children gave in to their worst instincts to join in the nastiness.  How was it OK for shock jocks to suggest the PM should be shoved in a chaff bag and taken out to be dropped in the ocean?  How was it OK for an Opposition Leader to take part in a rally with placards saying 'Ditch the Witch??

We're supposed to be a civilised society where our values include respect for each other and tolerance and mate ship, yet all these were set aside to allow us to put in the boot to a hapless victim.  

I suppose I've managed to push the memories and the helpless frustration I felt at the time into a hidden space in the back of my memory and reading about it again was just too painful.  Luckily, I had a back-up book so I've started reading John Cleese's autobiography. Much easier.

Thursday, June 9

I'm putting out a call for the removal of a word from our dictionary.  Occasionally a word becomes so over-used it needs to be put to death.  The word which is bothering me at the moment is 'disgusted'.  On the surface, it's a perfectly useful word when it refers to something which is loathsome or repugnant or causes nausea.  However, it now seems to be the adjective of choice when you want to describe something which is slightly annoying, mildly irksome or just a bit of a nuisance.

Today, two shop owners were 'disgusted' when their shop was broken into, an awestruck woman was 'disgusted' when Mr Turnbull didn't shake her hand, a would-be bus traveller was 'disgusted' when a bus driver didn't stop to pick her up, ... and so on.

I might say that I'm disgusted with the abuse of that word but, instead, I am irritated, annoyed, angry, frustrated ...  and beside myself with despair at the diminishing of our language.

Wednesday, June 8

What an exciting time it's been in Northern Tasmania over the past few days.  Flood records have been broken and, for once, the eyes of Australia have been focused on a tiny community in the tiniest state.  I heard one woman whinging the other day, 'The TV is only reporting what is happening in the capital cities.  What about Tasmania?'  I hope she's happy now.

The 1929 floods in Launceston have been the bench-mark but this week's floods have beaten record levels set then.  In 1929, the whole suburb of Invermay was inundated.  Immediately after, flood levees were built but, over the years, they fell into disrepair.  After all, the 1929 flood was dubbed the 'once in a hundred year' effort.  There was no hurry to do anything in preparation for the next round.  About ten years ago, though, a new mayor decided to get on with the re-building.  $60 million later, Invermay is surrounded by a state-of-the art concrete barrier which had its first trial this week. 

Of course, the local TV stations dragged up all the old stories about the 1929 floods and the call-in lines were choked with locals re-telling the stories their grandparents used to tell.  One famous character was Charlie Johnson, a policeman who spent the night that the floods reached their highest point in rescuing people and helping them save their possessions.  He worked so hard, so the story goes, that he lost the use of his legs and was in a wheelchair the rest of his life.

Another record broken was at Deloraine.  A regular caller to ABC radio is Kevin the Truckie who rang every half hour with the latest flood level reading.  By mid-afternoon Monday, the record had been broken.  This was a surprise to a lot of us who remembered the recent building of the Meander Dam and the formation of Huntsmans Lake which was so big, the government boasted there would never be another flood in Deloraine.  Two weeks ago, the dam was dry and the local farmers had no water.  After a couple of days rain, it is over full and the spillways were opened to send the huge volume of water down to inundate Deloraine again.  They must think we are mugs.

Monday, June 6

The weather gods continue to cause havoc and Tasmania is gearing up for the expected damage.  The TV is announcing that evacuation centres have been set up and there are flood warnings for all the major rivers.  Even our little creek, which is dry most of the year, is a torrent.  In the midst of all the water, the sprinklers attached to our septic system are running happily adding their little bit to the saturated ground.

I'm reading the biography of Bob Hawke written by Blanche d'Alpuget.  It's an easy read and, because, we lived through that era, it's very interesting.  No doubt, Blanche has put on a certain amount of spin but she certainly captures how popular he was with most elements of Australian society.  Not so with Paul Keating.  He is not portrayed very well, although his undoubted intelligence and economic wizardry are treated in a positive way.

When you're living through a period like the Hawke years, you accept or complain about the decisions made by the government but, thirty years later, you can often take a wider view and see the decisions in a longer-term context.  There's no doubt we often get exercised about day-to-day situations which seem important at the time but are of no consequence when looked at thirty years on.

Sunday, June 5

Like a lot of the east coast of Australia, Tasmania is in the midst of a wet and windy winter's day.  It's the sort of day that made the pioneers hunker down in their log cabins to wait until the weather improved and they could go about their chores.

But, like so many movies about survival in the Wild West, we found ourselves faced with the need for a rescue mission.  A message was received that our grand-daughter and her new-born child were in dire need of a relief package.  There was no alternative;  a volunteer was required to go bravely into the storm to deliver the care package of home-made soup and bread to Madeleine and Macie.

We knew that creeks and rivers were flooded, trees had fallen across roads, highways were blocked but the thought of the dangers ahead made no difference to the courageous resolve of the one who drew the short straw - me.

I rugged myself up and set off into the gale .... Oh, well, to cut a long (and silly) story short, Madi and Macie were terrific.  Macie slept for 6 hours last night and is turning out to be a very placid and contented baby.  Fingers crossed!

Thursday, June 2

I've just finished reading Road to Ruin, the story of how Tony Abbott and Peta Credlin 'destroyed their own government'.  It's not joyful reading but it does show how low Australian politics has fallen when the qualification for becoming PM is that you are a destructive bully.  This quality might have been OK in an Opposition leader but it didn't translate to being PM". It's hard to sum up the book in a few words but one Liberal Minister commented, ' Tony knew he wasn't up to the job and Peta knew he wasn't up to the job.'  It was a creepy relationship and I don't know how Mrs Abbott dealt with it.  

I heard the author Nikki Savas being interviewed on Insiders when the book was released and wondered whether she was just another Labor stooge stirring the pot.  However, she has a long career as a journalist with The Australian and worked for Peter Costello at one stage.  For years, she was regarded as 'the darling of the Conservatives'.  You'd have to expect, then, that the book is written with some honesty and probably a sense of despair about the damage being done to the Conservative cause by Mr Abbott and his cronies.

As I was reading it I was amazed at the deep divisions within the Liberal Party and it reminded me of the UK Conservative Party when Maggie Thatcher was in power.  She talked about the 'wets' and 'drys' and gave all the best jobs to the drys.  The Liberal Party boasts about being a 'broad church' that accommodates a wide variety of views.  I can't help wondering whether that is its weakness.  Traditional Liberals like Mr Turnbull can't get on with the job because they have to accommodate extremists like Cory Bernardi and Eric Abetz.  The long-term alliance with the Nationals must also be a handicap.  Wouldn't life be easier if Barnaby wasn't knocking on your door every five minutes.

I love new words and, on QI today, I heard aptogram which is apparently an anagram which has roughly the same meaning as the original word.  The example they gave was 'moon starer' which, reshuffled is Astronomer.

Dropped in to the conversation was Apple Macintosh, which I am astounded to discover can become laptop machines.  Brilliant!

Wednesday, June 1

We face the day with a new role in our lives.  We are now great-grandparents following the birth of Macie Elizabeth at 3.28 this morning.  It was a marathon birth and Madeleine had to soldier on for hours.  However, all's well with both mother and child.  Josh, Macie's father says he is fine too.

Monday, May 30

We're sitting around waiting for the 'phone to ring with news of Madi.  She's in hospital and is expected to deliver her baby, probably tomorrow.  Melanie is at the hospital with her and we get hourly updates with news of what is happening.  The last message talked about the doctors using a balloon.  Maybe it was one of the Clown Doctors.  If not, I don't want to know.

To fill in time, I was browsing back over my blog and came across a post from August 2014 which is as relevant today's as it was then.  Here it is again:

I made a throw-away comment the other day about how interesting it might be for our politicians to look to Europe for inspiration, rather than the US.  It occurred to me that we rarely hear about Europe except in derogatory terms: welfare society, the old man of the world, and so on, so I got on-line and downloaded a book, Europe's Promise by Steven Hill, subtitled Why the European Way is the Best Hope in an Insecure Age.  Mr Hill is an American writer, and advocate for electoral reform in the US.

He has written a very clear and compelling account of the development of Europe following the wholesale destruction of World War 2.  European leaders at the end of the war realised that Europe needed to be re-invented, following centuries of warfare.  All the old institutions had been destroyed, leaving a clean slate on which to draw up a new vision.

It's important to realise that these were Conservative leaders like Winston Churchill, Konrad Adenauer, and Jean Monnet.  It wasn't a socialist revolution although many Americans sneer at what they have tagged 'creeping socialism'.

Churchill and the others were not interested in soviet-style communism but they were also determined not to adopt the Wall Street capitalism of USA.  They were prescient enough to realise the problems that were developing under that model.  Instead, they planned a new beast: social capitalism, where the undoubted benefits of the capitalist model provided the energy and resources for the development of a fairer society with benefits across the spectrum.  His book is 519 pages and, while it doesn't avoid talking about the inevitable problems, it demonstrates the extraordinary success in the 27 countries of the European Union and countries like Switzerland and Norway which haven't chosen to join yet.

Some of the elements which underpin the successes are:  birth to grave support from government to supplement the relatively high wages; fewer working hours and more holidays to achieve a better work/life balance; development of advanced technologies; investment in alternative energies, superior public transport; free education at all levels, a fair sharing of the nation's resources. Sure, their taxes are a little higher but the benefits are obvious.  From time to time, the ups and downs of the economy put pressure on the largesse but the benefits to the people are a much higher priority than military spending, for example and, if cuts need to be made, they are made in lower priority areas.

As I read the book, I couldn't help but be impressed by the different attitudes between Australia and Europe.  European economies work for the benefit of society; Australia seems to expect our society to work for the benefit of the economy.

I've avoided talking about the US in this post but, clearly, that is a failed society and we should be avoiding adopting any ideas in Australia which are based on that corrupt model.

We seem to be obsessed in Australia with the idea of lower taxes yet we expect first-world services.  We need to wake up and realise that good welfare policies are expensive.  Politicians should be touting the benefits which will come from a little more tax rather than pushing same old tired barrow of tax cuts.

Sunday, May 29 (2)

We were invited to a Trivia Night to raise funds for the Deloraine Folk Museum - a good cause so we organised a team from our Probus Club to take part. There was a last-minute cancellation so Jamie and Nera came along to make up the numbers.  It was a typically Tasmanian affair - to accommodate those who didn't know the answers, you could buy an answer for a dollar.  After all, it was all about raising money not to allow big heads to show off their superior knowledge.

There were ten rounds of ten questions each and we were doing alright and not buying answers until it looked like we might, in fact, win.  Out came the wallets and we started to look good.  I'm embarrassed to say that we won, but we had to buy the answers to 8 questions in the last round to secure the prize.  All for a box of chocolates!

Sunday, May 29

I love gadgets and eBay knows this so they keep sending me teasing little messages prompting me to buy stuff that I can't live without.  This morning I received information about something described as:

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• EDC Multi-functional Climbing Carabiner Paracord Buckle Screwdriver Flashlight Wrench Tool
• 
  
• 
• 
  
• I was immediately intrigued and I went straight to the reviews to see what previous buyers think.  Yes, there are people who have such sad lives they write reviews of junk they buy on eBay!  Here's an example:
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• After receiving this, I have been carrying it around 24/7 i two weeks now! Wherever I go, it comes handy. Anytime I need a screwdriver or a wrench, it's always in my belt clip. Not to mention that I always have a beer-opener available at all time! This is something that every human beeing should be equipped with!!

Friday, May 27

Imagine the suspense as we awaited the return of Kitchen Cabinet and imagine our delight as we discovered that Jacqui Lambie would be the first guest.  We knew we would be in for a treat and it didn't take long before she came out with the headline quote.

Revealing why she'd never resorted to the biff in the Senate, she singled out one senator she had been tempted to take on. 

"Bernardi. He's just an a. . . . . . e.  Typical 'I'm born with a silver spoon up my rear end'," she said.

There's always a certain amount of pleasure in sneering at people like Jacqui, who missed out on the early advantages we had but, to give her credit, on the program she was self-deprecating and refreshingly honest.  She did herself no harm by appearing with Annabel and I just hope people watched it.  If they did, they might have changed their opinion of whether she deserves a place in the Senate.  If we can find a place for some of the no-hopers who get a place there because of their political connections, we can find a place for Jacqui who, at least, is trying to make a difference.

The same thing can't be said of Barnaby Joyce.  The more he appears on TV, the more he worries me.  His latest faux pas, linking the cancellation of live cattle exports with the increase in refugee boat arrivals in Australia is extraordinary.  Does he really believe it?  Everybody understands there is a whole complex set of factors which drives people to take the dangerous step of setting out in a leaky boat in the hope of a new start.  It's not controlled by the Indonesian Government in a fit of pique at a decision by Tony Bourke, no matter how ill-advised.  And this man is our Deputy Prime Minister.