Sunday, December 12th

 

It’s Sunday, December 12^th. I’ve been up since 7 and it’s now 8.50am.  I’ve watched the ABC news on TV, browsed the online Guardian and decided that I don’t need to know anything more about the state of the world.  We have Archie with us at the moment; he’s been through to say Good Morning but has again retired to the bedroom where Marilyn is catching up on her reading.  I’m in the habit of taking her 1.5 cups of coffee in the morning which keeps her going until she feels the need for breakfast, and allows me an hour or so to get myself into gear for what the day might bring.

 

In fact, we have no plans for the day.  The sun is shining so we might get out, perhaps taking Archie for a walk somewhere.  Or maybe not.  Checking our diaries we have nothing much planned for the next few days.  We’ll get booster Covid shots on the 17^th and are meeting friends for lunch on the same day; our Probus Christmas Party is on the 21^st and we are heading for Hobart on the 23^rd.  We decided to go away for Christmas this year for a change. Jamie and Nera are always busy with their friends at this time of the year and we don’t like to gate-crash their parties so have booked accommodation at Richmond so we can ‘do our own thing’.  We’re looking forward to seeing the new West Side Story at the State Theatre on Boxing Day.

 

If things had been different, we might have flown to Brisbane to see Madeleine and the  great-grandchildren, or to Wollongong, or we might even have lashed out and flown to Christchurch or Tokyo.  Instead, we’re limited to what our small state can offer but that’s not too much of a problem.  We’re at the stage where we enjoy our own company and don’t need other people around.  It’s nice, of course, to have others to talk to but sometimes it’s just too much bother.

 

I sent out our usual Christmas letter yesterday and it was great to receive an immediate response from our friend Lynne in England.  She said she couldn’t sleep, decided to check her emails and was delighted to receive our missive.  I wonder how many more people will take the trouble to respond.  I hadn’t realised how much I look forward to getting feedback but I’m now posting stuff on the internet almost every day and, so far as feedback is concerned, I might as well be putting my words straight into the bin.

 

My last post on The Joy of Retirement was read by 4 people, the one before by 7 and the one before that by 13.  Who are these people?  Are they real people or are they Chinese bots trawling the internet looking for secret information?  Does the Australian government routinely check what their citizens are writing in case a plot is being hatched secretly?  If they are real people, why don’t they identify themselves?  Is checking my blog regarded as a secret vice, best kept under the covers in case loved ones might get the wrong idea?

 

I kid myself that I write the blog, and things like the Christmas letter, for my own pleasure but I routinely check for any feedback.  Sadly, feedback is rare. We seem to have become a society whose members are programmed to consume media that is presented to us, but not expected to respond.  What was once regarded as good manners, to answer letters received, is now no longer seen as necessary.  We have become the ultimate consumers.