Wednesday, September 12

We’re in that awkward part of the moving process where the decision has been made but it’s too early to start packing. So we are twiddling our thumbs, bored out of our tree.

We have made a couple of trips taking things from the shed and from the top cupboards but Jamie has pleaded with us not to bring any more until he and Nera manage to remove all of their stuff. Our original plan was that we would move Jamie and Nera and allow ourselves a week or so to give Dilston a good clean, tidy up some painting, have the carpet shampooed, and so on, before we moved in. But, sadly, those plans have been set aside and any jobs that need to be done will have to happen while we occupy the place.

We tried to be sensible but made the mistake of giving ourselves too much time before we move it. We’ve pulled back two weeks from that original decision, which will help, but it’s still three weeks before the removalist arrives and those weeks are going to be very difficult.

One saving grace is that Robyn is arriving in a week or so and we’ll be busy in that week showing her around.  She probably hasn’t realised that she’s going to be pretty involved in our moving. We’ve worked out that there are three cars we can involve in the process  so Rob is going to get a set of keys and a selection of stuff to transport.  The removalist will take all the big stuff but our clothes, linen and bric a brac will be our responsibility.

We’ve moved too many times in our career to be excited by the process but it is nice to have the idea of going back home.  There are some issues with renting which we hadn’t anticipated. Even though we look after the place as if it were our own, there’s always the thought that the landlady might pick us up on some aspect. In fact, the couple of times we’ve had to ring to ask for something to be fixed, the landlady has arrived to have a look. We found that very intrusive.  In our own place, a scratch on the skirting board or a chip of paint from a door can be fixed at our leisure without the worry that prying eyes might criticise.

It’s our next movie afternoon tomorrow when two other couples join us to watch one or two movies together with lunch. I have chosen a couple of movies but one of the couples announced to me they have seen both so I have to go back to the drawing board. The movies I chose were Light Between Oceans and Viceroys House. The first is set in Western Australia and is the story of a lighthouse  keeper and his wife who find a baby in a wrecked rowing boat. What’s nice about it is that the first half of the story is filmed in Port Chalmers near Dunedin in New Zealand and the second half is filmed at Stanley just up the road from us in Tasmania. Apart from the interesting story it was great to see scenes of two places that we happen to know quite well.

Viceroys House is the history of the partition of India and Pakistan in the 1940s and the terrible violence that followed. The viceroy at the time was Lord Louis Mountbatten. I hadn’t realised what an impressive fellow he was and how important he is to the royal family (assuming that the movie is reasonably accurate and not just a bit of pro-royalist propaganda).  I suppose it’s appropriate that the latest addition to the royal family has been called Louis in his honour.

Wednesday, August 29

This idea of talking to the iPad to save typing isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Apart from the issue of having to correct the frequent errors, I find it really difficult to find a quiet spot where I can say what I want to say. I can’t say that my ramblings are of prime importance: enough to cut myself off from civilisation for that time.

However today I am driving the swimming bus so I have an interrupted hour while the ladies are in the pool so I can ramble on to my heart’s content. But of course I now have nothing to say.

One of the social things that we have set up in the last couple of months is a semi regular film afternoon. We invite another two couples to join us mid-morning, we watch a movie and have some lunch and then watch a second movie if we’re in the mood. Each time we’ve had it has been terrific. We’ve seen some great films but also enjoyed the chance to talk about them with like-minded people. A side issue is that we get a chance to see films more than once. The film Pride which we first saw at the Peace Festival has been a particular favourite and we’ve seen it three times now, each time enjoying it more than the time before. Marilyn is particularly keen on seeing a film more than once because she picks up nuances in the second viewing which she missed the first time around.

One of our recent efforts was to invite a couple of friends, the husband of whom is severely deaf. I don’t know what he does at home but we had to scrape around to find movies with subtitles and get Jamie to set up a better sound system so that Phil would have a speaker blaring in his good ear. As it happened they cancelled at the last minute because she was sick so we still have to go through that challenge sometime soon.

Our big news is that we are heading back to Dilston to live. It’s been terrific to be in Deloraine and to have the opportunity to get involved in lots of activities in this great little town. However, Jamie and Nera have bought a house in Hadspen, just out of Launceston and will be moving in September so we have made the decision that we will head on back to Dilston rather than rent it out to someone else. In many ways we will find it great to be home but in other ways we will miss the ease of having social contact in our town that we know well. I’ve resigned from Rotary so that’s one fewer connection holding us here.

Of course one of the issues of living in Deloraine is that we spend too much time driving up and down the road to Launceston. Last week I had four drives to Launceston. Of course, one of these was the swimming but, for one reason or another, we did the drive three more times. We hope that the move back to Dilston will reduce the number of trips on the highway.

We’ve given notice to vacate the premises here and we’ve already had three or four prospective renters coming to have a look. Each of them immediately falls in love with the place and is keen to move in so we have encouraged them to fill in the paperwork and we been promised a decision will be made by Thursday or Friday of this week. We don’t plan to leave here until October 12 so we still have lots of time to get organised.

Wednesday, August 15

Last week‘s peace festival was quite a revelation. When I think of anything to do with peace I always think about long-haired hippies with hand-knitted beanies sitting around smoking odd vegetation . But the Tamar Valley peace festival was something else again. We happened to meet some of the committee, all women, any one of whom would’ve looked at home in a Liberal ladies luncheon. The person we spoke to most is called Jo Archer and she is a member of the first family of Launceston. The Archers were among the early settlers who were given large land grants, and free convict labour and turned that largesse into a substantial fortune. Their name is still recognised as being important in this area.

But back to Brendan Nelson. As I said he was very articulate and very interesting. Apart from the liberal ladies committee, most of the participants were your average Launceston group who turn up to everything. Brendan and his offsider, and the local liberal politicians were the only ones dressed in suits which is not surprising. Brendan’s suit, no doubt expensive, did him no favours. Modern suits don’t flatter the human figure: often the jackets are too short, trousers are too narrow in the leg and too short so I was not impressed with the way he was dressed. However, he is glossy and that’s what really matters if you’re a politician or the director of a museum seeking public monies.

He spoke about his life in Launceston, going to school at the local catholic school and convincing his mother that he needed to go to a better school if you wanted to get on in life. Even at 12 or 13 years old he decided that the best place for him to be educated was in a Jesuit school, Jesuits being well known for their intellectual rigour and demanding the most of their people. Whatever it was about, it seems to have worked and he went on to do well at university qualifying as a doctor and opening his first practice in Hobart. From here he became interested in the AMA, became president of that organisation and then moved on to politics. Later, he became ambassador to Belgium and the Netherlands. Later he found himself out of a job and became director of the War Museum in Canberra.

He was at pains to say that this was not a sinecure for, in fact, like anybody else he had to apply for the job sit through an interview and then wait for the phone call or letter to arrive to let him know that he was successful. Of course, who knows what was going on behind-the-scenes. People like Brendan would not be out of work for long. There are plenty of cosy government jobs for those who have paid their dues in the various parties and Are now in need of some help.

I was interested to hear what he had to say about the museum. In recent years. When I’ve thought about it, I suppose I’ve become a little concerned about the narrow focus of what the War Museum is commemorating. To me it seems there is too much focus on World War one, especially of the Anzac campaign. Of course I understand that this year is the hundredth anniversary of the end of that war but this has been on my mind for much longer than just this year. It was good to hear Brendan Nelson talk about his wish to give more focus on Sir John Monash and the contribution he made to the battles in Northern France. I happen to have been reading a bit of the history of this time and Monash, who was Jewish, had a terrible time dealing with racism from influential people including Charles Bean who is credited with starting the War Memorial in Canberra and Keith Murdoch who was a respected war correspondent.

Monash was highly rated by other generals from other countries, even the Americans who are very reluctant to pass credit on to other people. However, the tactics he developed in the use of tanks were replicated by the Americans even during the Second World War so he’s a man worth celebrating.

Sunday, August 12

Yes,it's me again back after 6 months of not writing anything on the blog.  At the time, I was pretty involved in study and bored with the task of trying to find time to write down all the things that were running around in my brain.  I'm also finding it more and more difficult to type as the arthritis gradually takes over the joints of my fingers; however, chatting with a friend the other day he announced to me that he was writing a book and was using a program to convert his words into text so I thought I would give it ago with the blog and this is my first attempt.

One of the things we have become interested in is an old Art Deco theatre which has been restored in Launceston.  It was opened in 1937 and, for many years, was the store for the Saint Vincent de Paul Society.  A group of locals took it over a year or two ago and with a bit of a grant from the government have restored to its former glory.  Upstairs, there is traditional theatre seating but with upgraded sound, and downstairs is an open with lounges and lounge chairs and beanbags.  The screen has been made larger and it's really quite a good experience. There is a cafe in the foyer and if we don't fancy a movie we pop in to have a coffee from time to time.

On one of our visits we noticed that there was to be a fundraiser for the Tamar Valley Peace Trust who were organising a peace festival.  I've been to Peace Festivals before but this a modern version, more like a Community Festival to welcome new immigrants and involve local international groups.

The Star Theatre showed the film Pride with the proceeds going to the festival.  What a fantastic film!  It's a story about the coal miners' strikes in Britain during the 1980s and how a group of gays and lesbians in London raised money to help the miners.  It's based on real people and the film ends with a run-down on what has happened to them in the intervening 30-odd years.

It's the midst of winter here in Launceston and so we are often reluctant to go out at night but the Peace Festival had invited Brendan Nelson as a guest, so we braved the elements to hear him speak.  He spoke for an hour without pausing and without notes.  I hadn't remembered that he was brought up in Launceston, had his first GP practice in Hobart and became President of the AMA while still a resident in this state.  I could say a lot more about his talk, and might do so in the next post.

Friday, February 16.

Wonderful picture today on the ABC website, with the caption:

Harold Holt may have been with his mistress (not pictured) on the day he disappeared.

I'm grateful for the note 'not pictured'.  It certainly saved any confusion.

Saturday, January 27

After our day in the sun yesterday, we braved the weather once again to go to a garden wedding, of one of MarIlyn's 'girls' from Grammar.  With the temperature pushing 30 degrees, the men were all in their suits, long-sleeved shirts, ties and big hats, while the women more sensibly reflected the weather in their summer dresses.  After the ceremony, the men who could changed into shorts and t-shirts while the rest of us made do with taking off our jackets and rolling up our sleeves.

We haven't been to a wedding since Jamie and Nera tied the knot so Marilyn was quite excited to be able to dress up and she made a point of choosing a shirt for me that matched her outfit.  Once again, I fulfilled the role of accessory.  

It was a typical Australian country wedding: no overt formality but heaps of goodwill and everyone out to have fun.  They didn't have the Wedding March; instead the bride walked across the lawn to a song called You're the Centre of My World.  One American guest said he could have been in Alabama, without the drunkenness and fighting.  I'm glad I don't go to the weddings he attends.

All in all a good day but we're a wee bit tired this evening.

Friday, January 26

An embarrassing moment today when Facebook put up a 'memory' from three years ago - a photo of me, wearing the same shirt I had on today, and I still think of it as my 'new' shirt.

Thursday, January 25

A couple of times a year, I receive a reminder from my doctor's practice that it's time for my regular check-up with the Practice Nurse.  I don't know how long this has been going on but it involves 45 minutes with the nurse, followed by a quick visit to the doctor to follow up any anomalies.  The nurse checks my blood pressure, height, weight, blood sugar, etc and quizzes me about any changes in my day-to-day life.  He gives me pep talks about achieving a healthy lifestyle and reinforces the benefits of exercise.  Ho hum!

It's pretty lucrative for the practice, of course; I signed a chitty for Medicare which totalled $298.  If I were paying, I'd find a good reason to avoid it but, generally, it is a useful exercise in keeping me on the straight and narrow.  It's a bit worrying, though, when he cheerfully informs me that my height is now 179cm, when I've been telling people I'm184cm since I was a teenager.  Maybe his tape measure is faulty.

After the most recent visit, Marilyn and I decided we would become more determined in our use of the treadmill on days when we didn't go out: three stints of 10 minutes each for a start, building up over time as our fitness improved.  Marilyn asked me to find a Step Counter app for the phone but it turns out our iPhones count our steps, whether we like it or not.  When I checked, I was informed I had walked 5416 steps on one day last week, and walked up one flight of stairs.  Big brother watching me and checking up!

The only drawback is the device only operates when it is in my pocket.  If I leave it at home when I am rowing on the river, nothing is recorded and nobody believes me when I tell them how virtuous I am.  The solution is obvious and a wonderful opportunity for a new piece of technology - a fit watch which I can wear all the time and it will send information to my phone wherever it happens to be.

On to eBay to check the possibilities.  The search goes on but I have already rejected one luxury model which has a function to remind me when I have been sitting too long.  That I can do without.

Saturday, January 20

When I wrote about the number of UK Prime Ministers who went to Eton College, I thought of the famous quote: 'The Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton', supposedly said by the Duke of Wellington.  Apart from the fact that the Duke hated his three years at Eton, the school didn't, in fact, have any playing fields until much later, so he probably never said it.

Matthew Arnold, the poet, was quite scathing:

The aged Barbarian [ie: a member of the English upper classes] will, upon this, mumble to us his story how the battle of Waterloo was won in the playing-fields of Eton. Alas! disasters have been prepared in those playing-fields as well as victories; disasters due to inadequate mental training - to want of application, knowledge, intelligence, lucidity.

And, George Orwell, writing in 1942, picked up this criticism.

‘Probably the battle of Waterloo was won on the playing-fields of Eton, but the opening battles of all subsequent wars have been lost there.’

He went on to elucidate that, since the 1850s, all wars involving England (sic) have been marked by a series of early defeats, and eventual victory has been attained by the efforts of people socially inferior to the chinless wonders in command (often Highland regiments or Irish volunteers).  Orwell said the quote was an example of 'interested knowledge' where the words supported the position of the powerful.  He believed that knowledge is generated and sustained by 'the elite' and we poor mugs just accept what we are told.  And the fact that more than one-third of Prime Ministers went to Eton can't just be an accident. I wonder what would happen if the quote wen't something like this, 'the disaster on the Somme had its birth on the playing fields of Eton.

Friday, January 19

We're on the midst of the early-January torpor when, every year, nothing much happens.  We still make our couple of trips each week to Launceston for various appointments and take the chance to catch up on our reading between times.  Jamie's ride-on mower broke down in mid-December and wasn't returned until last week, so there was the beginnings of a significant wilderness developing at Dilston.  Jamie put out a cry for help,so we spent a day giving him a hand.  I rode the mower while he and Marilyn raked up grass and carted it away for future burning.

There's a mis-conception that operating a ride-on mower is an easy job.  That may be so when tidying-up a carefully maintained football field, but struggling around a rough piece of ex-pasture land takes skill, dedication and endurance.

Over the last few days, we've watched the second series of The Crown on Netflix.  We enjoyed the first series but the second is outstanding.  Part of the attraction is that it is talking about our history, and people we think we know.  But, of course, our memories are flawed and we probably didn't have all the facts at the time, anyway.  They covered the Suez Crisis, the Independence Movement in Africa and the Kennedy Assassination, and showed them in a whole new light.

The class system was alive and well in Britain in the sixties.  The political class came from a very narrow group of people.  Since the 1700s there have been 56 prime ministers in the UK; 19 attended Eton College.  The latest is David Cameron, and another old Etonian, Boris Johnson, is waiting in the wings.  In any sensible society, Boris would be seen for the clown he is, but I wouldn't be surprised if he did eventually become PM.

Checking some details on the internet after the final episode, I came across a little questionnaire: Which cast member of The Crown are you?  We answered a few questions and discovered that I was most like Winston Churchill, and Marilyn was just like Princess Margaret.  I suppose they might have got one right by a fluke, but to get both right is remarkable.

Tuesday, January 2(2)

Reading back over this morning's post, I realise I was a ltlle unclear about what we had been doing.  The trip to Devonport yesterday followed on from a previous trip on Sunday, when we had lunch at a beach-side restaurant called Drift and walked around the Bluff to a lighthouse.

Devonport has the reputation in Tasmania of being a bit seedy.  It's something of a poor cousin in many ways.  The local legend is that, in years gone by, all the crooks and shysters in Victoria, trying to escape the law, would get on the Tasmanian ferry, and end up in Devonport.  A reputation like that sticks and it's only recently that people have started to appreciate the extraordinary attributes of the place.  It's about the same distance from Deloraine as Launceston and we might start to look more in this direction for shopping and so on.

Tuesday, January 2

It was such a nice day yesterday, we decided to go out again.  There's a long walk along the foreshore at Devonport, which we have never done, so we retraced our steps from yesterday, packed a lunch and set off.  We were very impressed; the area is stunning and well looked after by the council.  Hordes of people were enjoying the sunshine, on foot, bikes, or skates and there were lots of pleasant greetings.  We really are lucky in Australia, to live in such a civilised environment.  In the warm Devonport sunshine, all the negative news headlines fade away.

There's a Vietnam War Memorial on the foreshore, built on a breakwater and it's very popular with fisher-people.  Once upon a time I would have said fishermen, but it's an equal opportunity occupation now with just as many females as men.  There seemed to be lots of fish being caught, too, so it was not just a way of passing time.

One of the nicest things about the beach here is that, as well as sand, it has long banks of beautiful rocks. I'm surprised that some entrepreneur hasn't seen an opportunity to make a quid flogging them off to landscape gardeners, and I'm glad they're still here for us to enjoy.  

All-in-all, another great day.