Sunday, January 1

 Happy New Year to everyone!

Marilyn decided that it was time to replace the plants we have lost since we put our display shelves together last summer.  They're set up just outside our lounge room windows so we can enjoy them at any time.  They've been great but winter took its toll and it was time for refreshment.

We went in to Bunnings the other day to start the process.  Marilyn had an idea what she wanted, not in the sense of what plants particularly, but rather how many and how big they should. be. They always have what they call 'potted colour' which make a pretty good display.  I would have bought everything we needed from the '$5 or less' table but I wasn't in charge.

I thought we had more than enough but we needed to go back today.  This time we took Archie.  He loves a trip to Bunnings.  He was snoozing in the back seat until we turned into the Bunnings driveway, when he realised where we were and came alive, whimpering and bouncing around.  I got a trolley and a box and he jumped in, knowing the routine.  Everybody stops to talk to him and he loves being the centre of attention

.

Now he's on the lounge, conked out from his big day.

 

Friday, December 30

Does time speed up as you get older?  I'll have to give it more thought and probably do a bit of research, but, at a guess, I would suspect it is the case.

On most days we seem to get very little done and yet there are not enough hours in the day to do it.  

No doubt someone has said it before me but it's no fun getting old.

Wednesday, December 28

 One of my regular jobs is to make the bed each morning.  I always get up first and head off to the gym before breakfast.  Marilyn read for a bit with her coffee, then gets up just before I'm expected home, pulls back the bed to air and leaves it for me to sort out at the appropriate time.  I think it annoys her that, invariably, she needs to remind me that it hasn't been done.

"It won't make itself," she will say, or "Has the bed fairy been yet?"

It's not that I'm avoiding the job or that I am strategically 'forgetting'; it's that there is nowhere in my brain a little system that will remind me that the job has to be done.  The only trigger I have that the job has not yet been completed, is if I happen to walk past it and see that it is still folded back.

Marilyn has a virtual check-list in her brain which tells her what needs to be done for the day: wash, put out the clothes, bring in the clothes, make lunch, water the lettuces, and so on.  Mentally, she ticks them off and she won't rest until everything is complete.  My brain doesn't have that facility.  I need a written checklist to keep track of what responsibilities I have.

Not as efficient, I grant you, but I suspect I was one of the last of the pre-war models before modern technology began to have an influence.

The Coles man has just delivered an order for us: nice fellow, a bit older than most of the blokes who drive their trucks.  He apologises for standing on the doorstep but he's not allowed to deliver early and he is, in fact 2 minutes ahead of time.  He and Marilyn chat about inconsequential things for 2 minutes, he checks a box on his screen and leaves for his next delivery.  One thing he did say is that the only thing to do with the 8 or 10 red patterned bags which were used to bring our stuff is to bin them.  Apparently, there is no way for them to be recycled.  Australia's only recycling plant for 'soft plastics' has had a fire and China doesn't want any more of the world's rubbish.

Where will it end?

Tuesday, December 27

 We didn't get our water back until 11 o'clock last night.  It must have been a major issue because it affected the whole town.  Marilyn and I drove over to Jamie's and filled up all the containers we could find and, in the spirit of Christmas, shared it with Jen, the young woman who lives next door.  By 2 o'clock, the  council, I suppose, was giving out water to people in the Main Street, 'Bring Your Own Container!'.

I came across a nice story this morning: Taipei hopes it will become the cleanest city in Asia by having their garbage trucks play classical jingles to alert people they are on their way.  It seems to be working and people are becoming programmed to respond to the jaunty song.  Most of the trucks play Beethoven's 'Fur Elise'.  When asked why this song was chosen, a spokesman said, 'We bought the trucks from Germany and they came pre-loaded.'

I don't suppose they've worked out how to change the record.

Monday, December 26

I've just come back from the gym to be told we have no water. My heart always sinks when I hear things like that because I know I'm expected to resolve the problem and I have no clue where to start.  In fact, I start by checking the Taswater website, find there is a burst main in Longford and breathe a sign of relief, knowing I can leave it to the experts to sort it out.  Luckily there is enough water in the kettle for a cup of coffee each.

We had a very enjoyable Christmas Day yesterday.  Two friends, Steen and Clare, came for lunch so we had different people to talk to and Archie had two extra laps to sit on.  He's very cool about visitors and give them the big welcome as if he is delighted to see them.  

When they left, I gave them some rhubarb from my 'garden'.  They were reluctant but I insisted.  Nobody leaves our house without some rhubarb!

Sunday, December 25

Happy Christmas to all my readers!  I've said this tongue-in-cheek, of course.  All my readers is a bit of a stretch. I note from the stats that a total of one (1) long-suffering person read the blog yesterday.  Anyway, Happy Christmas to him or her, whoever it may be.

I've come to the realisation that I'm a slow-learner, in the sense that I tend to jump to the same conclusions even though those conclusions have been shown to be wrong in the past.  Last night, I was aware of the sound of sirens a couple of streets away.  That's not unusual: the ambulance and police depots are not far away and we hear sirens quite often.  My first thought is how sad it is that someone's Christmas is being ruined by a car accident or an illness, or something worse.

The sirens continued and I heard them coming closer. It still didn't occur to me what was really going on, so I wandered outside to see whether they were coming up my street.  They were.  It finally dawned on me that it was the annual lolly drop by the firies, the amboes and the police.  How many times have I heard it all before and how many times have I wondered how awful it would be if my house went on fire on Christmas Eve?  And how long, I wondered, before I made the connections with Christmas Eve and sirens equalling lollies?

Most of our neighbours had come to the front gate as well so it was good to be able too wish them Happy Christmas.  They were all female, of course; the bloke next door is away again.

Saturday, December 24

I seem to have been up for ages.  Archie woke us early, barking loudly, then rushing outside to rush up and down the back yard trying to wake all the neighbours.  I finally calmed him down and any potential home invaders had taken to their heels, but it was impossible to get back to sleep.  Marilyn decided she would have a cup of coffee; she alway has two milk arrowroot biscuits with her first coffee of the day and she happily shares them with Archie.  It's become part of the routine when he is with us.  This morning, though, she decided 'no biscuits, naughty dogs don't get treats'.  I'm not sure his doggy brain would have made the connection between barking at imaginary burglars and being deprived of biscuits.  But, what do I know?

I arrived at the gym a bit earlier than normal; every light was on in every area but there was only one bloke there.  I haven't seen him before; he was big with a folded towel over his head held down by pair of headphones.  I think he might have seen too many Rocky movies.  He walked around a lot and made moves with some of the equipment but I don't think he was serious.  I finished my routine and, when I left, he was still there posing beside various machines.  I hope somebody else turned up soon to give him an audience.

Friday, December 23

It's going to be a quiet Christmas this year with Jamie and Nera in NSW but we've invited a couple of friends to come for lunch.  They're also on their own, never having had children and with no other family nearby.  Because we have them coming, Marilyn is going to a bit more trouble to make sure they're well fed. She's ordered prawns, turkey and ham and various sweet things but there will be nothing hot.

It's crazy that, even though this is the hottest time of our year, Australians still insist on hot meat and vegetables for their Christmas dinner.  Well, at the Christies there will be cold food and minimal washing-up.

 

Wednesday, December 21

The local berry farm is advertising that they're again open for business so I went along this morning to see what they had.  There was the usual crowd of young mums there drinking coffee and eating cake while their kids played in the sand pit but there wasn't much activity among the vines.

I was disappointed that only the strawberries were ready for picking and they're all grown at ground level and it's too hard now for me to grovel around on my knees.  The blackberries don't come on until mid-January so I'll have to wait until then.  I consoled myself with a punnet of raspberries picked by someone else, which Marilyn will use for her Christmas Day fruit salad.

The local newspaper tells me that about 8000 pickers are expected to be here for the season, mostly from various Pacific Islands, and farmers are having trouble finding appropriate accommodation for them.  Local councils are not co-operative and the state government is dragging its heels on finding solutions. One fellow is Deloraine has had his application for building new picker accommodation in council for several months with no action.  Berries are a growing chunk of our agricultural industry here and it depends on enthusiastic workers from overseas.  

Monday, December 19

When I get to the gym in the morning, I always check the sign-in book to see who is there before me.  It's always a bit of a toss-up because so many don't bother to follow the procedures.  I suspect many of those who come at that time are 'illegals' using the facilities without paying, but not my problem.

Today, I saw that there were three people before me: Raylene, Gaelene and Brick. You couldn't invent three names like that!  I'd seen the two women's names before but Brick was a new one.  I imagined what he would look like: short, muscular, laconic.

In the gym, there were the two women and two men, one of whom was clearly a regular who hadn't bothered to sign in.  He was probably in his 60s, shortish, longish grey hair and a grey walrus moustache. In my imagination the moustache is stained with nicotine but that's probably not true.  He always wears a shabby pair of grey track-suit pants and an off-white t-shirt in need of ironing.  An old hippy, I assume.

Brick was unprepossessing: not very tall, not very muscular, wearing a baseball cap.  I wonder how he copes with his name.  Some parents have a lot to answer for.

Sunday, December 18

 It's mid-morning and I've just come back from the gym.  I was late today because I over-slept but there were few other people there so I managed my routine without having to wait for particular equipment.  Marilyn's getting in the shower as I am writing this.  I think we're going out for lunch today; I remember being told that we're meeting up with a couple of friends at some time but I'm unsure of the details.  I won't give myself away by asking for clarification; no doubt I'll work it out when Marilyn starts to get dressed.

Archie is in full play mode this morning, dropping one of his soft toys at my feet so that I can throw it for him to retrieve.  When I come back from the gym he meets me at the door with the one we call M. Aubergine, a purple thing that looks like an eggplant, in the hope that I'll throw it for him.  All his toys have names: another purple one is Tiny Talong (talong is the filipino name for eggplant).  He's got into the habit of taking one of his toys outside and then forgets where he left it.  Every now and again, I have to take him out and show him where it is.  There's a labrador living next door and they talk to each other through a crack in the fence, so Archie is always checking whether he is there or not.  Marilyn thinks the other dog's name is Howard, or something like that.  What a name for a dog!  He seems to spend most of his time inside; not a great idea for a big dog.

Saturday, December 17

We had to go into Launceston yesterday. It seems to be always for the same reason: something to do with our health.  This time it was for Marilyn to have her annual eye check up.  Everything is good and no need for new specs.  We had been into the same agency last week for hearing tests and ended up with sparkling new hearing aids.  We had fallen for an ad campaign years ago to have our hearing tested and were issued with simple hearing aids courtesy of the Federal Government.  It seems we are now eligible for an updated model.

I was keen because the new ones have in-built blue tooth which means I can listen to podcasts while I am doing my morning exercises and don't have to put up with the little earpieces I bought which keep falling out.

The town was a nightmare: we hadn't counted on the Christmas rush and struggled to find a parking spot.  Because we don't have large suburban shopping centres like more populated cities, everybody here comes to the city and it doesn't cope. However, we survived and are having today at home to recover.

The sun is shining and it looks as if I'll be mowing the lawn this afternoon.

Friday, December 16

 I love reading about obscenely wealthy people who decide to give away some of their money.  Today's example is Mackenzie Scott who achieved billionaire status by divorcing her even more wealthy husband, Jeff Bezos.  Her net worth is estimated at $27bn ( I assume that's US dollars).  She's decided to give away 'more than half'. 

How big a deal is that, in reality?  If she gave away $14 bn she would still have $13bn to keep her warm in the cold Californian winters.  If most other people in the world gave away half of their accumulated wealth, they'd not survive.  Ms Scott won't even notice the disappearance of those billions.

I reckon people should not be regarded as generous until their donation is real sacrifice.  All I can say to Ms Scott is 'Big deal!"

Thursday, December 15

A few of our friends joined us for a Christmas lunch yesterday at Stickybeaks, our favourite local cafe.  There were other people there, of course, but not one one of them was younger than 75.  Grey hair was the norm and walking sticks were everywhere.  The menu reflected the wishes of the clientele: roast dinners, schnitzel, lambs fry and bacon, chips with everything.  I had my usual: lamb shank with salad and chips with apple and blackberry crumble to follow.  I might have had golden syrup dumplings but knew that would be too indulgent.

I took the bone from the shank home in Marilyn's bag for Archie.  He couldn't believe his luck and took it outside to enjoy it on the back lawn.  When we weren't looking, though, he brought it back inside and hid it in our bedroom and Marilyn wasn't pleased when she found him up on our bed having a little chew.

It's a rather bleak day here.  I've been out to a doctor's appointment this morning but have nothing planned for the rest of the day.  With nothing else to think about, I've been re-reading some of the previous posts on this blog, re-living some of the adventures we've had when we were more active.  Great times!

Wednesday, December 14

I don't normally read the results of the many polls which are taken across Australia every month.  Apart from not particularly caring what other people think, I don't trust the polls themselves.  It's surprising how often polls reflect the bias of the organisation promoting the poll.  

But I happened to notice one yesterday which asked the question, 'Overall, do you think that 2023 will be a better or worse year for Australia than 2022?'

Good question!  And the response was good too.  50% of 18-34 year olds said Better, 44% of 35-54 year olds said Better but only 29% of the 55+ cohort said Better.  Clearly, the older we get, the more pessimistic we become.  What a miserable lot we oldies are.  We live in the best country in the world where we'll never go hungry, where we'll be looked after if we are sick, where the sun shines all the time, where we don't have to worry about 'home invasions' or ratbags with guns wandering the streets, and the best we can say when asked our opinion is 'we're going to the dogs.'

It reminds me of a poem by John O'Brien:

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
  In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
  One frosty Sunday morn.

Tuesday, December 13

I had an email from Charlie Prell this morning.  I have never heard of Charlie Prell so how did he happen to have my email address?  Normally, I would just ignore it or, if I were particularly bothered, I would delete it.  However, this morning, with nothing better to do, I opened it to see what he was selling.

It read: This Christmas, buy your farmer friend a farm gate sign.  OK.  I know a number of farmers, although I don't buy any of them Christmas presents; however, I dig a little deeper to see what the signs might say, imagining things like: THANK A FARMER WHEN YOU EAT YOUR NEXT BAG OF CHIPS, or FROM MY FARM TO YOUR PLATE!  YOU MIGHT SAY THANKS.

But, neither of those was available.  All there was on offer was FARMERS FOR CLIMATE ACTION.  Boring!! I know it's a worthy cause but does putting a sign like that on a farm gate make any difference?  

Sunday, December 11

There were a couple of articles on the internet this morning talking about the alternative ways of travelling from Melbourne to Sydney.  With the cost of flying going through the roof, coupled with a drop-off in standards, people are looking at how else they can travel. If you take into consideration the environmental factor, flying doesn't stack up, so there has to be a better way.

Flying is the quickest but the cheapest is a bus, 4 or 5 passengers in a car can be economic, the train is slow.

I've said it before: we need a high-speed rail connecting at least Sydney,Melbourne and Canberra.  It will be expensive to build but wouldn't it be luvverly.  Probably not in. my lifetime, though.

Saturday, December 10

Browsing the headlines this morning tells me that the most important thing happening in the world today is the Football World Cup, and that's as it should be.  The news from Ukraine is depressing, Victoria celebrates another 'Danslide', and there's an oversupply of mangoes (or is it mangos?). 

Should I be bothered that Harry and Meghan are 'hitting back at criticism' or that Elon Musk's net worth has halved?  I'm afraid I can't get raise any enthusiasm for either issue.  I suspect the world would be a better place if Harry and Meghan, and Elon Musk moved to a desert island and became hermits.

I sent out our Christmas letter yesterday and already have received several replies.  Perhaps the most interesting one is from our friend Mary who is spending Christmas in Kyoto.  She has rented a small townhouse (machiya) on the Tasegawa Canal and she tells us the weather is sunny and crisp.  It sounds fantastic and we can visualise exactly where she is.  Yes, I suppose I am a bit envious.

Friday, December 9

I've just caught up with the news that the Quantum of the Seas, the ship we had booked for our cruise, arrived in Brisbane from Honolulu on November 27th with about 200 passengers on board with Covid.  If we had decided to go ahead with our holiday, we would have been joining the ship on that same day it arrived.  We seemed to have had a lucky escape.  

And it's not the only one. The cruise lines, of course, are playing down the issue saying that the protocols they have in place will protect the passengers but we have experience of what really happens in these situations.  They've always had a requirement that passengers have to use a hand sanitiser before going into the dining rooms but there's always a handful of people who absolutely refuse to comply, and they get away with it.  I like to think they are Americans claiming their constitutional right to free-dumb, but they might just be Australian bogans who don't know any better.

Over the years, and a number of cruises, we learnt to avoid the buffets and have our meals served to us on a plate straight from the kitchen.  At least we had a chance, then, that they would be unsullied by careless passers-by.

Looking back, we were pretty optimistic that everything would be fine and the cruise would be a delight but it was not to be.

Thursday, December 8

I have a routine each morning: I check the headlines, check my emails and check Facebook.  Of course, Facebook is more and more about advertising.  I usually have to wade through dozens of exciting offers before I see the reports from friends or pictures of birthday parties I wasn't invited to.

Yesterday, among all the ads for things I don't need or want,  there was an ad for a shirt with a message on the front.  Surprisingly,  it said: 

It's a Christie thing: you wouldn't understand.

I know that direct marketing is very focused nowadays but this seems ridiculous.  

This morning the same ad appeared, with the name Christie replaced by John.  Spooky!

This is a link to the original ad (if it works).

https://www.facebook.com/100087120409990/posts/pfbid02S91uBSwMCzeErGKxboa9hS12qnCg29cSvogB5yvFf1m1eci9JNrAm7sTXSMpQyJsl/?mibextid=Nif5oz

Tuesday, December 6

It's our Probus Christmas lunch today and we're heading down to the little town of Chudleigh where the ladies of the town have promised to give us a lunch to remember.  There's not much at Chudleigh but they've nominated themselves as the Town of Roses and encouraged everyone in the main street to plant a few in their garden.  I don't know if it attracts any tourists but every little bit helps.

They also have an old-fashioned Show in the Spring and the town seems to be thriving.  We'll have our lunch in the local hall and there's sure to be plenty of food.  

Monday, December 5

I've often heard terms like Baby Boomers and Millenials bandied around and idly wondered what descriptive term they use for people like me: born during the war years and lived through the most productive period in the world's history to date.  This morning, I discovered I am part of the 'Silent Generation'.

Wow!  Could they have been more right?  It fits me to a T. I never complain, I never whinge, I just get on with life dealing with whatever fate hands me.  

According to Google, we of the Silent Generation handle adversity well (tick), we dealt with the COVID issue with 'stoic optimism', (tick) we value the stability of peacetime (tick), believe in 'waste not, want not' (tick), embrace traditional family values (tick) and take little for granted (tick).

It's nice to hear something positive about the group I belong to even though that group is rapidly disappearing.  The Silent Generation was born before 1946 so there can't be that many of us left.  

Sunday, December 4

I must sleep very soundly.  Marilyn asked me this morning whether I had heard Archie barking in the middle of the night and I had to confess that I hadn't.  She said it was probably loud enough to wake the neighbours and she wondered what had set him off.  Her first thought was that there was somebody in the yard, but I think it was probably next door's cat wandering where she shouldn't.

In fact, we had been shopping yesterday and bought some new towels. Marilyn had washed them and I had hung then out late in the afternoon.  It's rare for us to leave washing on the line overnight but an alert 'snowdropper' could have had a good haul if he had come by at the right time.

The yard, of course, is surrounded by 5 foot high walls and the gate is always locked so a passing burglar is an unlikely scenario.  The real issue is why didn't Archie's barking wake me up?  What if it had been a real emergency and I had slept through it?

Saturday, December 3

I had always thought that I would find it difficult to fill my time when I was no longer working and trying to take advantage of any spare moments by being involved in various other activities.  I'm lucky that I have always enjoyed reading and have never had trouble switching off from society for a a few hours to immerse myself in a book.  But there needs to be more to life than concentrating on a book while the world passes by.

But now that I've reached that time of life where paid work is a rarity rather than an imperative, where going to a social occasion hardly ever happens and the highlight of a particular day might be to visit the podiatrist, the days seem to be passing faster than ever.  For example, it's 69 days to my birthday: a milestone birthday, in fact, after which I can't pretend that I'm middle-aged any more.  How long is 69 days?  Let's think: 69 days ago was September 26. and, checking back on this blog I find I was writing about what I was doing to fill my days.  'What's it all about?' I was asking.  Was that nearly 10 weeks ago?  And, what's happened in the interim?

I feel I'm in a speeding car, hurtling along to an unknown destination with me holding on trying to make sense of it all.

Thursday, December 1

Nera has accepted a job in Tuncurry which is near Forster in NSW.  She will be based in a Nursing Home in the town and it is expected that the contract will run for about three months.  Because it's for a significant amount of time, Jamie will travel with her and they have booked good accommodation nearby.

They leave on the Spirit tomorrow evening, leaving Archie behind for the oldies to look after.

We're disappointed that they won't be here for Christmas but it's a great opportunity for Nera and we can only wish them well.

Wednesday, November 30

They say that most people don't notice many of the signs of getting old.  They can't avoid noticing that they are walking a little slower, that their back hurts when they climb stairs or they're just a touch forgetful.  But it's all the other stuff, all the other signs of decay, which we don't address.  We're all good at telling ourselves lies.  

And, if I'm honest I have to accept that everything is not as it was.  I am slower at picking up on cues.  If Marilyn says, as she did today, 'Bring me the mop and bucket,' I have to stop and think, "Where is it?  What does it look like?"  So, I'm much slower at reacting.  And, even, when it's in front of me, I don't always recognise it.  When looking for a mop bucket, my mental image is a cylindrical, galvanised iron pail with two rollers on the top and a foot pedal to move them closer together.  There is nothing like that in our house.

A mop bucket is, in fact, a brightly coloured oval-shaped container with two compartments, one of which can be made to spin by pressing a foot pedal.  What chance do I have?

A hundred times a day, also, I find myself making a mental note about something I have noticed or something that has occurred to me or something that I have found in the news.  The plan is that I can use it as a post in my blog.  I might as well not bother.  Within minutes of making the mental note, my mind is blank. When I sit down to write today's clever thought, there's nothing there.

It's frustrating when there's so much happening in the world which is worth a comment and I've missed it.

Monday, November 28

I've been reading a book by Mary Trump, Donald's niece.  She had written a previous book which was all about her uncle and gave some insight into what he was like growing up.  It's fair to say there was no love lost.

This second book is somewhat different.  She mentions Uncle Donald in scathing terms but it's more abut the history of America and how the country has been shaped by things like slavery and the treatment of the native population.  I've read it all before, of course, but it's still an horrific story and most Americans still haven't come to terms with the long-term effects of the policies which were in place.

There are parallels for Australia, too, in our history and treatment of Aboriginals.  There's no easy fix but it would help if people acknowledged that mistakes were made.

Sunday, November 27

I was reading an article this morning about a bloke who is setting out to live longer.  His plan involves eating better, having a strict workout regime, monitoring the performance of his vital organs and so on. I wonder if it's worth it.  His breakfast, for example, was a 'murky concoction involving olive oil, cocoa flavanols and something derived from algae,'  For lunch, he might have a 'blended green slurry of lentils, broccoli and mushrooms.'

The article asks, who wants to live forever?  Not me, certainly, and a poll in Britain revealed that only a third want to live to 100.  The older the respondent was, the less enthusiastic they were about getting very much older.  Of course, those of us of a certain age can see old age up close and it's not attractive.

Maybe Americans are different because there is a huge amount of money in the US being poured into companies working on extending human lifespan.  There are books being written about it, like The Bulletproof Plan to Age Backwards and Maybe Even Live Longer.  With a catchy title like that, it's sure to be a bestseller.  The author plans to live to be 180.  Good luck with that!

One school of thought is that we might be able to engineer our way to longer life with replacement bits and pieces designed to keep us going.  Where will it all end?

Thursday, November 24

I think my last couple of posts had the wrong date on them but who cares.  I know today is Thursday and the fact that it is designated the 24th is simply for convenience.  If I called it something else, it wouldn't make any difference.

I've mentioned before that it's bird-nesting season here.  The other day, I noticed a goldfinch outside the window and he seemed to be gathering cobwebs from some shelves.  He hovered and gathered them up in his beak and flew off.  It seems that several small birds use cobwebs to line their nests.  Jamie has a large nest made of sticks and mud in the corner of his carport.  He rang the other day to say that four chicks had hatched and their heads were sticking out of the top of the nest with bright yellow beaks wide open.

Archie now has to be taken to the yard on his lead in case he gets too excited and frightens the parent-birds away. 

Wednesday, November 22

 The topic for this weeks' story at the Writing Group is Travel.  My heart sank when I read that as I envisaged reams of purple prose describing visits to Vienna, drinking the most divine coffee and eating sacher-torte.  Other people's travel stories are unbelievably tedious.

I decided to write about one of the most bizarre places we've been: Sagada in the Philippines where they bury their dead in caves or hang their coffins from huge cliffs.  It wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea but I would be very surprised if anyone else in the group has experienced anything as exotic.

I've posted it on my other blog, 1000 Words or Less, if you're interested. The address is jmjjn.blogspot.com.

Monday, November 21

I haven't been to the gym for a few days because of working at the exams and the bit of a cold I had in the middle of it, but I managed to get back today.  I never thought I would become the sort of person who dutifully toddles off to exercise but 'stranger things happen at sea' - (another one of my Mum's sayings).

We did a bit of moving furniture around yesterday.  It's a small unit, of course, so there's not a lot we can do but Marilyn wanted her treadmill out of the second bedroom so that our summer visitors aren't tripping over it.  Jamie came to lend his muscle and everything is now looking good.  I'm still going through our accumulated junk and throwing out what I can.  The fellow across the road has a Red Cross bin outside his house so I can get rid of stuff immediately.  If I just put it aside to take to Vinnies or the City Mission, the next time we're in town, I might be tempted to change my mind.  However, if it's already in the bottom of a charity bin, I would be very reluctant to retrieve it.

So much to do, so little time!

Sunday, November 20

We're watching a show on Acorn TV called Darby and Joan.  It's about a woman (Greta Sacchi) who travels to Australia from England looking for her husband (John Waters).  She meets up with a retired policeman (Bryan Brown) and they travel in a Winnebago along the Far North Queensland coast.

John Waters is listed as one of the 'stars' but we've only seen him, briefly, in the distance wandering across a desert, and we're already up to Episode 5.  Maybe he'll make a splash in the last few episodes.

Greta is looking good for her age but Bryan Brown is a wreck.  He was born in 1947, which makes him younger than me but his wrinkled, crepey skin and his gaunt appearance makes him look ten years older. He took his shirt off in one scene and his purple heart operation scar looked terrible.  He's obviously tagged as the love interest for Greta but he looks like her grandfather.

Still, the stories are interesting: old-fashioned, Australian, see-a-problem, solve-it, put the crook in gaol. And the NQ scenery is spectacular.  It won't win any International awards but it's good fun.

Saturday, November 19

I changed my mind about this post so have deleted it.

Friday, November 18

It's the final day of our stint at the Exams.  We're both working this morning but I have the afternoon off which will give me a chance to get to my Writing Group.  Marilyn is rostered on and she's pleased about that.

While I'm at the Writing, Jamie texts to suggest he picks me up and we can go out for a coffee.  That suits me as my alternative plans were to sit in a shady spot somewhere until Marilyn was finished.  It's particularly hot today.

Marilyn and I have both done 7 sessions, plus the training.  We're paid a flat rate for each and it's a handy little sum.  In previous years we might have put it to a holiday but those days are gone.  Apart from the ever-lurking Covid, we're just not motivated to go to all the trouble of packing and sitting jammed in plane seats.

And, talking of Covid; another 800 passengers on a Princess ship have succumbed to the the dread disease.  I hope they think their holiday was worth it.  I'm glad we've cancelled our cruise.  You can see it all on You tube anyway and we don't have to wear a mask in our own lounge room.

Thursday, November 17

 I'm actually writing this on Saturday but I wanted to keep things in some sort of chronological order ... who knows why? 

We're supposed to have 34 for Ancient History but 8 haven't turned up.  I suppose it's not everyone's favourite subject and it's certainly not easy.  My off-sider is a white-haired, grandmotherly lady called Nancy, surname Dear.  It suits her perfectly and it's hard to avoid referring to her by her full name.

"Nancy, Dear, would you check the roll, please?"

While the students were gathering outside the classroom, she caught sight of a girl dressed like someone out of Sound of Music: long-sleeved, orange blouse, black waistcoat, full black patterned skirt.  She had her hair in long pigtails.  Nancy was enchanted.

"Isn't it nice to see that some girls still dress in the old-fashioned way?" she gushed.

"Can you see the pattern on the skirt?" I asked her as the girl came closer.  Nancy realised it was covered with skulls.

"Oh, I thought they were flowers," she said.

There's a boy in front of me who's clearly transitioning to female.  What a hard road he faces and I wonder how his classmates are responding to it.  I hope that they are supportive.

There's another girl dressed all in black, with a very white face and black lipstick. Do they still call them Goths?  Otherwise, it's a pretty standard bunch of very well-behaved, motivated teenagers.

Wednesday, November 16

I'm not on the roster today so I have another day to rest up before a big day tomorrow.  Marilyn has a morning shift and I've dropped her off .  I have a couple of chores: hang out the washing, make the bed  and there was something else which I've forgotten.  The weather has picked up so I might sit outside with my coffee.

Jamie and Nera have just come back from a few days in Melbourne.  Jamie was offered as job with a big video production company so they went over to check it out.  He spent three days at the studio but eventually decided it was not for him.  The job would have been fine but a move to Melbourne would have been too costly.  They have a good set up here and trying to re-establish in Melbourne would have negated any benefits from the bigger salary.  I can't say we're unhappy; as we get older, it will be reassuring to know they're just a ten-minute drive away if we need them.

Tuesday, November 15

I haven't gone to work today.  Last night, going to bed, I had a sneezing fit.  I had taken an anti-histamine earlier but its hadn't helped.  It was just as well I had a large box of tissues. beside me  This morning, I felt no better; I had a sore throat, a runny nose and constant sneezing.  I convinced myself that I had Covid and was on the decline.

So, this is how it ends, I thought? At my age, death is always looking over my shoulder but, surely, it's not going to come in such an appalling way: coughing, sneezing and spluttering.  With a heavy heart, I took the RAT test and waited 20 minutes for the red line to appear ... but it didn't!  Negative!

I still didn't go to work.  The kids didn't need to deal with my constant sneezing and clearing of my throat. The Supervisor wasn't happy but that can't be helped.  And I survive to live another day, as they say in the classics.

Monday, November 14

I'm reading a book called Freeze Frame by Peter May.  It's part of a series with the main character being Enzo McLeod, a half-Scottish, half-Italian forensic expert who lives in the south of France. The author has written other series as well, some set in China and others in the Hebrides.  They're not bad books and I look out for them when I remember.

In this latest one I am reading, the Scottish weather is mentioned.  We've all heard about how it rains all the time; it's a bit of a standing joke.  I checked Google and it seems to have some validity. Google BOM suggests it rains on 175 days of the year in the Lowlands and 300 days a year in the Highlands.  Not much fun!  I found a website which claims that Scotland has 100 different words for rain, like the Eskimaux have 100 different words for snow.

A recognise a couple: drookit (meaning drenched), smirr (very fine rain), but I've never heard of aftak (a lull in a storm) or daggle (to fall in torrents).

I lived in Scotland for the first 7 years and 10 months of my life.  I walked to school every day and when I was old enough, I played in the street, we went for holidays and walked to visit our grandparents at least once a week.  And I have no memory of ever experiencing rain.  I remember wearing a blue coat when it was snowing but never a raincoat.  What does that mean?  Has my memory blocked all the wet days out?  Did I become so inured to it I didn't register that it was happening?

Or is Scotland really a tropical paradise and there is a world-wide conspiracy to blacken its appeal?

It's funny; I have very clear memories of Blantyre and of Burnbank and of Johnshaven on the East Coast where we went for a visit just before we left for Australia.  And, nowhere in my memory is it raining.

Sunday, November 13

In my cleaning-up I came across a cheque book which I haven't used since 2011.  In fact, only 9 cheques were written between November 2005 and 27 April 2011.  A couple are for cruises and one is for the deposit on 13 Sherborne Drive, Dilston. (a very large cheque!)  One is for $1000 for the Consulate of Nepal, written abut a month before we travelled there.  Clearly, cheques were losing popularity even then.

Finland banned cheques in 1993, and other European countries follow suit; New Zealand did away with them in 2020 and Australia is fast going down that track.  Only 1% of transactions now involve cheques and 80% of those are by people over 65 years old (the other 20% are over 50).  

They'll hang around for a while in less developed countries.  Last year, for example, 27% of US workers were still paid by cheque.  Sad, really!

Friday, November 11

 You can't pick the people you work with in this job.  There are some ex-teachers who know the ropes and are well on top of it; they're easy to work with.  There are other, retired people who have had successful careers in life and are now looking for ways to stay involved and to supplement their income.  They are generally competent and have a no-nonsense approach to the task.

And, there are some who clearly can't hold down a full-time job and make do with these casual positions.  They're a mixed bunch.  Some are keen and focused, anxious to make a good impression.  Others, though, can be a worry.

I had one yesterday as my off-sider, who rang all my alarm bells.  She began by complaining about the fellow she worked with the previous day, how he wouldn't let her do anything.  Her whole demeanour was meek and submissive and she seemed surprised and grateful when I asked her to mark the roll and it was fine.

But, then she began questioning the things I told her to do and I became fed up with her niggling.  I was told this morning that she had rung the supervisor last night to tell her she couldn't get on with the other staff and please take her off the books.  No real loss!

Thursday, November 10

There's a new hairstyle that seems to becoming popular with boys: the front is very long and thick and the back is trimmed quite short.  It's almost like a reverse mullet.  It might look alright in the mirror but, to an onlooker who can see the back and sides, it seems strangely unbalanced.  And, it's a particular problem when you're writing.

Tilting the head forward makes the long bits flop over the face.  There's one fellow in today's exam room who is having to deal with this problem.  Frequently, he has to push the hair back so that it doesn't cover his eyes when he's writing.  I timed how often he pushed it back; it varied from as little as 5-second intervals, to 41 seconds. Guessing that he pushed it back an average of about every 30 seconds, that's 120 times per hour and 360 times in a three-hour exam.  What a distraction and what waste of energy!

If you have any sense of vanity, you would realise that this hairdo is not a good look bit what do I know?

Wednesday, November 9

 It was the English exam. today. Every student at the college studies English so it was all hands on deck. Just before we started, an officious-looking person scurried in to tell us they'd found a mistake in the paper.  She quickly wrote on the blackboard:

        Section A, Question 4 should read: Rita Hayworth NOT Rita Haywood.

How exciting!  I couldn't wait to check the paper to see how Rita Hayworth managed to get involved in a question in the 2022 TASC English paper.

It was a section discussing various genres of literature and the book mentioned was 'Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption, written by Stephen King and published in 1982.  I know the story best from the fabulous film, The Shawshank Redemption.  Rita Hayworth is the subject of the poster Andy uses to cover the entrance to the tunnel he is digging (spoiler alert! if you haven't read the book or seen the movie.)

These kids were expected to write three long essays on quite complex topics.  I would have found it hard to do even now.

Tuesday, November 8

This is the first day of the HSC Exams and Marilyn and I are both working as supervisors  I think we have 14 or 15 sessions between us over the fortnight which is much the same as last year.  I must say I'm not looking forward to it as much as I have in previous years; maybe I'm just getting old (or lazy). Marilyn, on the other hand, is relishing the idea.  She looks forward to meeting our fellow-workers and she enjoys working with the students.

I've always been happier with younger kids but Marilyn's forte is clearly teenagers.

Anyway, it gets us out of the house and that can only be a good thing.

Monday, November 7

I put together a collection of music for the car.  It's mostly stuff from the 60s: Dusty Springfield, The Carpenters and the like.  I only play it when I'm on my own and try to sing along as best I can.  The problem is that I can't get one of the songs out of my head.  It's Silver Threads and Golden Needles and I find it intruding on my thoughts even when I'm occupied with something else.

It's a song with no redeeming features and, even when it came out originally, we used to make fun of it, exaggerating the Southern American accent and 'twanging' the lyrics.  I think the phenonemon of having an unwanted song in your consciousness is called an 'ear worm': a very good description.

I don't remember ever thinking of Silver Threads ... as one of my favourite songs; it was always a bit of a joke and I was much more interested in the Everley Brothers but, more than 50 years later, it's haunting me.

Friday, November 4

I've picked up the latest book by Richard Osman.  His first two became overnight sensations and everybody in the literary world was waiting for his latest.  And here it is: The Bullet that Missed.  It's set, like the first two in a nursing home where the Thursday Murder Club meets regularly to discuss unsolved murders.  It's an interesting scenario and has unlimited scope for further books.  

If he can keep it up he might end up like Alexander McCall Smith who has 25 books in The Ladies No 1 Detective Agency series or MC Beaton who has 28 Hamish Macbeth adventures.

Thursday, November 3

 I dropped my car off for service after the gym this morning and was walking home.  I had my walking stick with me as I find it useful to keep my balance and it makes people treat me with more courtesy.  There was a group of school kids coming towards me, taking up the whole width of the footpath but, as I got nearer, they clustered together to give me more room.

The tallest girl clearly wasn't satisfied with that and ordered them to 'get in a line'.  She repeated it several times, with a rising inflection in her voice and, eventually, the line was to her satisfaction: shortest in front and her at the back.  I almost saluted her as we passed but had to confine myself to muttering 'Thank you'.

It was an interesting story on the news about the 'five lions' who escaped from Taronga Zoo and threatened some people who were camping in the grounds.  Five lions?  One male adult and four cubs.  A beat-up, of course, but it reminded me of a time in Townsville when I took some of my students for a sleepover at the local Crocodile Farm.  The owner was one of my parents and was trying to launch this aspect of his business.  Where we pitched our tents was not far from the pond where the biggest crocodile lived.  Nothing went wrong, of course but I heard that, months later the old croc had escaped and was re-captured in the very paddock where we had been sleeping.

Wednesday, November 2

I've just come back from the hairdresser where I discovered there has been an accident just outside of town.  A couple of her customers had rung to say they couldn't get through; a truck had turned over and dropped its load all over the road.  The interesting thing is, it was carrying potatoes!  What a job it will be to clean it up and. clearly, most of that will be left to the police.  No doubt they are spitting chips.

Saturday, October 29

We had our training session yesterday for the work at the Exams, with all the familiar faces fronting up for another year.  Some people are certainly getting old and I wonder how long they will last.  However, they love the extra cash they will earn and the chance to feel useful again.  Or, at least, that's how we feel.

Marilyn finished her stint with the Council election count yesterday; she completed 27 hours and she enjoyed it so much, I think she would have done it for nothing. 

The exams start on November 8th; between us, we have 14 sessions which will keep us busy. 

Friday, October 28

 We're rushing out the door this morning again. Marilyn has been asked to do another half day at the election counting and I have my Poetry group.  We need to be at Launceston College for a training session in the early afternoon as well so life remains busy.

I might try and write a little more about our day when we finally get back home.

Thursday, October 27

There's nothing particular in our lives to celebrate today. Marilyn is happy to be gong off to work but al I have to do is have my eyes checked and my hearing aid adjusted.  Oh, that it's come to this!

One bit of good news is that a juvenile Bar-tailed Godwit has set a world record with a 13,560 Km continuous flight from Alaska to Tasmania.  It took him (her?) 11 days and one hour.  In reading the details of the flight, I find that the bird did not fly alone; it was, probably, part of a flock but was carrying a satellite tag which allowed  it to be tracked. The flock left Alaska on October 11, took a route test of Hawaii and flew over Kiribati on October 19.  About 2 days later it flew over Vanuatu and continued south about 620Km east of Sydney.  On October 23, the bird and the rest of the flock, took a sharp right and arrived in Tasmania on October 25, landing at Ansons Bay in the north-east.

I confess I have never heard of a bar-tailed godwit but from now on it will be top of my Favourite Birds list.

Wednesday, October 26

 Marilyn had a call yesterday asking her to work in the afternoon.  It was the Election Commission, who were about to start counting  the votes in the recent Council elections.  I didn't want her driving home after dark so said I would drop her off.  The building was in an industrial area of Launceston and, of course, there was no parking nearby.  There were hordes of people coming from all directions and Marilyn said there were at least 150 people in the room where she was working and there were two other rooms operating as well.

She finished at 8 o'clock but was back on the task at 8.30 this morning.  She tells me she loves the interaction and conversation with other people (and the wage sare handy too).

There was an email waiting for me when I got home, with the roster for our work at the Higher School examination starting in a couple of weeks so we have a busy time coming up in November.

Tuesday, October 25

We finished watching Karen Pirie yesterday and what a fantastic show it is.  There were three parts, each of about two hours and it was probably the best bit of television I've seen for a long time.  My dilemma about whether to read the book at the same time as watching the show was resolved by the fact that the program diverged from the book quite significantly.  Although they shared characters and the basic premise was similar, they were different enough that I could enjoy both stories without becoming confused.  

It was satisfying that both plots ended up with the same evil character being found guilty.  When it comes to the crunch, we all like to see the baddies brought to justice.

There's no second series on the horizon yet but it seems the writer of the first series has been looking at other books by Val McDermid with Karen Pirie as the main character.  I'm reading the second series of the books at the moment: A Darker Domain, and there are more after that.

Saturday, October 22

I'm bemused by the kerfuffle that's going on in UK politics.  They finally get rid of Boris but replace him with a dim-witted bimbo who has only lasted a few days before being cast into oblivion.  I couldn't believe what I was hearing from her on the news bulletins.  Could she really be as inept as she appeared?  So I checked YouTube so see whether she had always been like this, and she has.  

So, the powerbrokers stir themselves and get rid of her.  And now, seriously, they are thinking of bringing Boris back.  Are they all mad?  What has changed since they got shot of him before?

I think of Nicola Sturgeon over the border in Scotland.  She must be thinking it must be like floating down a river tied to a corpse and hearing the sound of the waterfall ahead.  Cut yourself loose, Nicola, it's not going to get any better.

Thursday, October 20

I drove out of the garage this morning, on my way to the gym, and was surprised to see that the concrete in front of us was covered in bird droppings.  I glanced up at the roof and it was the same.  This could only have happened in the last couple of days because there's been so much rain prior to that the surface would have been scoured clean.  It looked like there had been some sort of Bird Convention but we hadn't heard a thing.

I've noticed seagulls in the area from time to time even though we live a long way from the sea, and they're notorious for making a mess, so they're likely candidates.  

I started reading a Val McDermid book yesterday called The Distant Echo.  It's quite interesting: about a murder in St Andrews in Scotland.  By chance, last night we watched the first episode of a new show on Britbox called Karen Pirie, and it's the same story!  What a coincidence.  Now I don't know whether to stop reading the book in case it spoils the show, or give up the show until I've finished reading the book.  

Wednesday, October 19

 I had to go back to the doctor's yesterday to have the stitch removed from my head where they took the sample for testing.  It was the same nurse, although she didn't remember me.

"Did you have it done here?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Don't you remember me? I'm the one with the Sydney Swans hairstyle and the one you thought you had murdered."

"Oh, yes, I remember," she said. "That was a fun day, wasn't it?"

Monday, October 17

I drove past the Anglican Church yesterday and someone has sorted out the notice board.  That someone has picked up from where last week's notice left off and it now reads:

of the shadow of death .....  

I can't remember the rest but it's clearly a bible verse which will mean something to the faithful.  It strikes me as odd that someone would think that last week's message which took up two lines on the board and abruptly ceased in the middle of a sentence, and which was followed, a week later, by a continuation of the same bible verse which took up every available line, would make sense to anyone.

Is it some post-modern approach to religion?  Half-quote something and then keep people in suspense until you get around to finishing the sentence?  I worry about the vicar: watching his diminishing congregation and knowing he'll never turn the rot around.  I suppose, in that situation you'd try anything to get some attention.  Maybe, he's jealous of Fr Rod Bower of Gosford Anglican Church whose noticeboard attracts so much attention.  If so, he's on the wrong track.

Sunday, October 16

 There's a very grand Anglican Church in Longford with impressive grounds and right in the Main Street.  Of course, like manny churches today it has fallen on had times.  Congregations are smaller and there's not the money for upkeep that there used to be.  We sometimes see the vicar out with his mower, trying to keep the grounds in some sort of order.

At the front of the church grounds is a signboard where the vicar, or somebody, puts up notices.  Whoever is responsible likes old-fashioned Bible verses and that's fine; his congregation is probably older and are happy to be reminded of the familiar verses they learnt as kids.

Sometimes, though, things go wrong.  For the past few days the message has read: 'Yea, I have walked through the valley'. What valet is he talking about and what happened in that valley.  I imagine he meant the 'valley of the shadow of death'.  Was he interrupted before he could finish?  Or, is he inviting someone to ask what he means?  In any case it's not a very cheerful quote.

I hope he got around to completing it before Morning Service today, otherwise he might have to answer some embarrassing questions.

Saturday, October 15

The local Stickybeaks Cafe advertises every week on Facebook the current Take-away specials.  I always look out for Lamb Shanks which are slow-cooked for hours and served with a rich gravy.  It's also Archie's favourite because he gets the bone when I've picked it clean.

I don't know what it is about dogs and bones.  When Archie is given the discarded bone, he treats it like a little girl might treat a new doll. He carries it reverently to his bed and carefully licks it all over, looking for any tiny scrap of goodness left behind.  There's a little knuckle of bone on a lamb shank and Archie works on that until he has removed it.  He then lays it aside for more attention in the future.

Sometimes, he'll take the larger bone outside where he can lie on the grass working on it.  When he's tired of that, he'll bring it back inside, struggling to get it through the dog-flap.  At bed-time, he'll try to get it into our bed so that he can access it during the night but has to accept that there are some limits to what is appropriate.   The bone will be the centre of his attention for three or four days and then he'll ignore it as if it's out-lived its usefulness, and he'll patiently wait for Mrs Stickybeaks to put it back on the Specials list.

Friday, October 14

My phone and Marilyn's buzzed at the same time last night and it was a message from sone group called Tas Alerts  telling us to prepare to evacuate.  What?  This only happens to people on Lismore and Warragamba; we live in a civilised part of the world and we're not set up for this sort of crisis.  Jamie rang to say that he had received one too.  

The message suggested we look at their website for 'further advice' and I put in our address.  A map popped up showing the areas in danger. Happily, our street was not one of those.

I knows that Longford has had severe floods in the past; the local cafe has photographs on the wall of previous inundations but at some stage the town was ringed by levee banks; there's one just a couple of streets away.  Unless something cataclysmic happens, the town should be safe.

This morning, the warnings are still being issued but I've re-checked the maps and I'll still go to my writing class.  

Wednesday, October 12

I mentioned to the doctor that I had a sore on my head which wasn't clearing up so she immediately thought 'skin cancer'.  Not wishing to alarm me, she said, 'It's probably nothing but I'll take a sample and have it checked."  Yesterday was the day so I fronted up and the doctor and nurse assured me it was  no big deal and whipped out the scalpel. 

They must have hit a blood vessel as, all of a sudden, I could feel blood running down between my eyes.  "Swabs!" said the doctor and I found myself swathed in blood-soaked bandages.

"It's not a good idea to have a cancer next to a blood vessel," said the rattled doctor. "Oops! I should have said 'suspected cancer'.  

The cheerful nurse tried to lighten the moment by saying, "With the red of the blood and the white of your hair, you could be a Swans supporter," but I wasn't amused.

After all the excitement had died down, the irrepressible nurse commented, "It looks like a murder's been committed in here."  That really cheered me up.

Tuesday, October 11

 We had an hour or two to spare in Launceston yesterday so popped in to the Silos Hotel for a cup of coffee.  As you'd expect, it is a conversion of the original grain silos so is close to the water but in an industrial area of the town: Bunnings is across the road and there is a cement works directly opposite.

We haven't been there very often but it's become a busy hub for the locals.  There were little groups huddled in the lounge having their meetings, we met a few friends from Launceston Grammar who were having a meeting over lunch and the place was a-buzz.

Fashions change and this relatively new hotel seems to be taking over some of the business which the Country Club Casino once enjoyed.  And a good thing, too

Sunday, October 9

Nera flies out tomorrow on a job with Aspen Medical.  This is the company that she works with on the Covid vaccination roll-out but this particular job is a bot different.  She will fly to Darwin and then on to the Gove Peninsula on the east cost of Arnhem Land.  The settlement where she will be based is on an island off the coast, and she'll be there for three weeks.  Very exciting!

When I was at Gib Gate, we had a sister-school at Yirrkala which is nearby to where Nera is going.  It had been arranged by Jimmy Barnes, whose kids were at the school and who was a great friend of the members of Yothu Yindi who were very big at the time.  I was never able to pin down a date for our visit and finally gave up.  

It would have been a great adventure and I would have a lot more to write about in this blog if t had come off.  

Saturday, October 8

We've had to vote in the Council elections this week. I don't remember ever doing this before but, apparently, it has only just become compulsory.  Our Council area covers 5 or 6 towns like Longford, a number of smaller villages and large areas of farmland.  There have been signs everywhere for weeks and our letterbox has been stuffed with brightly-coloured flyers.

The process is interesting: we received our ballot papers in the mail with instructions on what to do.  There were three papers: for Mayor, Deputy Mayor and Councillor and a little booklet with details of some of the candidates.  I imagine those who were not mentioned had missed the deadline.  Our candidates contained a retired Federal politician, an ex-Tasmanian Premier, various farmers, small business people, hopefuls with a variety of interests, and two Real Estate Agents.  

I had an idea that Real Estate Agents were barred from sitting on Council; it would be like voting the fox onto the Chicken House Committee - an obvious conflict of interest.  However, there they were.

We filled in our papers, sealed them in the envelope, signed a tear-off slip and posted them back.

I imagine, when they arrive at the counting house, the tear-off slips will be removed, we'll be crossed off the rolls and the votes will be counted.  The Government has been advertising for people to help with the count but all you need to do is be fast on a computer using only the keypad - a very narrow skill set.

Friday, October 7

I missed three days of gym because of my morning trips to the hospital and, I have to say, I was noticing the difference.  I made a point of going early yesterday and it was good to get back into my routine.  By chance, I received a reminder from the management that my membership will expire soon and I need to fork out a few more dollars to keep going.  Do I hand over $600 for a year, or $350 for 6 months?  If I go Pay As You Go, it will be $40 per fortnight  ($1040 per year).  What if I get fed up with it and stop going or, worse, I'm no longer able to do it?  So what is the point where a longer-term payment becomes economic?

I think that's a decision for another day.

Thursday, October 6

 I had the last appointment for this round of infusions yesterday although they handed me an appointment card for a return visit on November 1st, so I suspect there is more to come.  It was busier yesterday in the small ward but, for some reason there wasn't the same level of staffing I'd noticed on previous days.  I spoke to the nurse who was plugging me in and she commented that 'they' always get the rosters wrong.

The young woman in the chair next to me seemed to be known to the staff and I suspect she was or had been a nurse in that department.  The woman in the last bed came in in a wheelchair from one of the local nursing homes.  She was very cantankerous and awkward and said, "I'm not sitting in that chair.  I want a proper chair."  They explained to her that they needed to use the medical chair because if she had a reaction to the medication, they'd be able to lie the chair flat to deal with it.  I found out later she was called Charlene.

"No, I'm not lying flat," she complained.  After a bit more argy-bay, she finally gave in and they plugged her in.  A bit later, there was bit of a to-do from her vicinity and I heard one of the nurses telling her that what she was saying was not appropriate, it was rude and aggressive and racist.  I think the nurse was Asian and the old battle-axe had made a racial slur.

Charlene kept up her complaining and eventually the whole emergency team was called out in case she really was having a serious attack.  She wasn't, of course.  The doctor did discover that her blood-oxygen levels were low and suggested he do some proper tests to check whether she should carry a bottle of oxygen.  He got just as much abuse as the poor nurse but he was Irish.

Later in the afternoon, the young woman next to me was leaving and, before she left, she turned to Charlene and said, "I just want to say, Charlene, that you are awful.  You're a horrible person."

I thought it was almost a quote from Muriels Wedding: 'You're terrible, Muriel!"  I haven't had as much excitement in just one day for a long time 

Tuesday, October 4

Sometimes the world hits you in the eye with a surprising coincidence.  I mentioned yesterday I'm involved in the process of being infused with some expensive potion which I think is called plasma.  It's clearly an important element of our medical system but I've never given it much thought.

However, it seems I've upset some balance somewhere.  This morning, on the ABC News, authorities were putting out a call for donors to front up because there is a shortage of plasma.  It can't be a coincidence: the very next day after I have my first infusion, authorities notice there's a dearth of supplies and a call to action is issued. I hope they don't decide to start charging me for the product. now that I've caused a shortage.

Monday, October 3

I had to pop into the hospital this morning for an infusion.  I thought that 'infusion' had something to do with making tea, or some herbal potion prescribed by a witch.  In fact, it's much more scientific than that. I've been having trouble with my right hand: it's very stiff, I drop things and there's persistent tingling along the edge.  I've had it for years but it's getting much worse now.  My GP sent me to see a neurologist, who organised some tests and suggested these infusions might work. I have three sessions this week at the hospital.

It was an early start and they sat me down in a comfortable chair, put in a cannula and hooked me up to a bottle of this clear liquid.  Apparently it's made from blood products and the doctor in charge reminded me that it was a donated product and there might be a slight danger of picking up some horrible disease like HIV.  Bravely, I told them to go ahead.  They said I would have two bottles today and each would take a couple of hours to infuse. The bottle came in a cardboard box and I noticed the first one had a price label - $900!  Where are they buying this stuff?  Would they do better at  Chemist Warehouse?

Anyway, I had my two bottles today and will return tomorrow and Wednesday for more.  Let's hope it has some effect although the neurologist wasn't giving off particularly positive vibes when we last spoke.

Sunday, October 2

I had great hopes for this morning. I was at the gym before 8 and I envisaged the day unfolding before me and that I would have achieved much before crawling into bed this evening.  It's now noon and what have I achieved?

I've scribbled a few words of a story for the Writing Group next week, I've made the bed and that's about it.  Marilyn has promised that we'll have lunch at 12.30 and I expect the afternoon will just fritter away with not much to show for it.

Saturday, October 1

 I started to read a new book this morning: a crime novel(of course) by Irvine Welsh, famous for Trainspotting.  It started well but mentioned that one of the characters was wearing  Dead Writers perfume. Could there be such a thing?  And there is!  It's allegedly inspired by novelists like Hemingway and Poe and marketed as offering 'the scent of old libraries and the ghosts of world past', with notes of black tea, vanilla and heliotrope. Suitable for either sex, (it) makes you want to curl up with your favourite book.

Caroline P. comments: 'Cozy and broody.  A great evening and winter scent.  My husband loves wearing it too.'  It's only $US5 for a sample size,

The company, Immortal Perfumes, also sells one called Funeral Homes Perfume which is 'a unisex floral fragrance'. Could be something different for Marilyn's Christmas stocking.

Friday, September 30

Jamie's Council has just introduced a third bin to their garbage system: it has a green lid and is for stuff that is compostable.  I know it's common across Australia to have such a thing but out local Council in Longford is still a bit rural in this regard.  If you can't burn it, bury it!

Marilyn has jumped at the opportunity of getting into this new initiative.  She saves every scrap of vegetable matter, egg shell and so on and delivers it to Jamie's bin on a regular basis.  My grass clippings go the same way so we're doing our bit.

I read this morning that Victoria is now introducing a FOURTH bin: pink lid and for soft plastics and pizza boxes.  Where will it end?  If this nonsense ever came to Longford, there would be twenty-four bins lined up outside our units on a Tuesday morning, and there's just not enough room.  It's hard enough now with a dozen bins and it would need a whole re-education plan for my neighbours to get them to do the right thing if we had twice the numbers of bins to deal with.

Thursday, September 29

I seem to be running late this morning and can't get my mind on to what I might write.  Jamie has just arrived so I'll postpone any sharing of my thoughts until this afternoon.  Jamie had come to deliver a hall table which we needed to replace one which was designated for another purpose. This one is quite posh: heavy plate glass with solid brass connectors.  It holds ups come of planes and a bowl where we throw our house keys and other junk. No home should be without one.

We had to drive up to Launceston this afternoon for a podiatrist appointment at Mowbray and by the time we stop for coffee somewhere and pick up some essentials at the supermarket, we can wipe out half a day. We took the chance to fill up the car on the way home in case someone decides to increase the price when we're not looking

Wednesday, September 28

Spring is certainly here.  I've been watching a couple of starlings collecting twigs for their nest which they are building in the gutter of our unit.  I don't suppose that's a good thing but I haven't got a ladder long enough to get up that high to check.  In any case, they probably built one there last year and the one before and there didn't seem to be any fallout from those.

I don't know how long it takes from building the nest, laying the eggs, the chicks hatching out, and then growing big enough to leave the nest.  Yesterday, I saw what I thought was a young starling on our fence but he must have been hatched a while ago.  I'm afraid I don't know enough about it.

The better weather is also having an effect at the gym where more skin is being revealed as the track suits are removed.  There seems to have been some new tattoos acquired during the winter break and people can't wait for the opportunity to show them off.  Sadly, all I have to show are a few more wrinkles and nobody is interested in them.

Tuesday, September 27

I think it was January when I complained that my desktop computer had given up the ghost.  Since then I've been using a lovely little MacBook Air that Nera has given me on long-term loan and the old HP all-in-one still sits on its pedestal, looking at me accusingly as if demanding that I do something about it.  I nearly said 'gathering dust' but Marilyn would never allow that to happen.

Still, after 8 months I need to get my act together. "Get rid of it," I said to Jamie.  "Maybe you could cannibalise it for parts.  Whatever you decide, I want it off my desk."  

He thought for a moment and wondered whether we might, in fact, be able to upgrade it enough to make it useful for some basic writing or something. "Have a look on Youtube and see whether anyone has ever put in any extra RAM to one of these things."

Youtube, of course, has videos on everything and I found one explaining how to fit some extra RAM using only a Philips Head screwdriver.  The cheerful fellow on the video said that what we really needed was a new hard drive: get rid of the old optical drive and fit a new solid-state one instead. It turned out that Jamie had a solid-state drive left over from some other job.

He came over yesterday and we laid the computer out on the dining room table.  Two screws held the back in place and it was soon opened up.  There were a few bits of loose plastic rattling around inside and the RAM stick wasn't sitting well which might have meant that had been a problem but that was soon fixed.  A new SS drive was fitted and held in place by a couple of strips of black gaffer tape and the back was replaced.

It works just like a new one.  I've been warned not to clog up the hard drive by saving everything but it's great.  Of course, I don't want to give up the MacBook so I'm not going to be too enthusiastic.

Monday, September 26

I woke up this morning with a touch off the 'What's it all about?' in my head.  I thought of the last few days and tried to identify exactly what I did and the list was pretty short: a couple of trips to the supermarket, change the linen on the bed, mow the lawn, write some inconsequential words and read quite a lot.

I realised that I have been retired for longer than my last job: I was 10 years at Giant Steps and I've been retired now for 12 years and 9 months.  I heard on the news that the Federal Government's budget is better than anticipated but will still be hard to balance.  It's no wonder when old buggers live so long and are a drain on society for much longer than should be expected.

I discovered on my search of the internet that the first Old Age Pension scheme started in Germany in 1889 and Britain followed in 1908.  Some American states tried to follow suit but, as in normal in that benighted country, the courts put obstacles in their way.  Ben Chifley kicked it off in Australia in 1945 although some Trade Unions had individual schemes before that.

I need to keep reminding myself that it's not welfare.  Over my working life I've contributed through my taxation and, unlike many, I've never paid a tax accountant to fiddle the amount that I'm expected to pay. Realising that makes me feel better and I can go about my day without any reservations.

My online calendar tells me it's the Kings Birthday in Western Australia.  It's going to be hard to get used to that nomenclature.  (Love the big word!)

Sunday, September 25

 I'm deeply engrossed in Cold Grave and might have it finished by the end of the day.  It's a fairly standard whodunit with the only twist being that it's partly set in Dundee.  We recently saw a TV show set in Dundee and it looked like an interesting city: a good university and some tall ships as a tourist attraction.  There's one character in the book called Campbell Baxter, nicknamed Two Soups.  It rang a bell and I thought I had read it somewhere before, so I looked it up. 

It seems to have become a common meme in Scotland and has appeared in more than one book, and elsewhere.  I suppose when something interesting catches an author's or screenwriter's attention it's hard to resist claiming it as your own.  Of course, I would never do anything like that.

Saturday, September 24

I'm reading a book I downloaded from the library; it's an author I've not seen before called Craig Robertson who seems to be Scottish.  This book is called The Last Refuge and is set in the Faroe Islands which are in the North Sea somewhere north of Scotland.  They're a part of Denmark and have a  population of around 50000 people.

I hadn't really ever given any thought to the Faroe Islands but, if pressed, I would have thought they were like the Shetlands: cold and bleak where the men go out fishing and the women knit jumpers with elaborate patterns.  That's not far from the truth and there are other similarities too.  On Shetland, there is a  traditional hunt each year for gannet chicks, on the Faroes it is puffins.  It would be a hard life existing close to the Arctic Circle and that certainly comes through in the book.

I'm now on another of this author's books called Cold Grave and there are a few more after that.

Friday, September 23

With the death of the Queen there's a lot of talk about whether now is the time for Australia to become a republic.  When this came up years ago and we had a referendum, I was enthusiastic but now I'm not so sure.  The way the referendum was nobbled then shows that nothing is as clear cut as it might seem.

Some of my concerns are: how would our Head of State be identified?  Who would be eligible? Would he/she be appointed or elected? If so, who would come up with the final list for consideration?  Would we have to live with another retired Chief Justice or Army General?  I hope we haven't forgotten the infamous John Kerr, who was a lawyer and there are still some questions about the current GG's involvement in Mr Morrison's recent power grab.  Why didn't he advise against what was clearly outside the normal procedures?  If all he thought he was able to do was sign whatever the PM put in front of him, what use was he?

I would only be interested in the notion of a republic if all politicians were banned from all aspects of the process. The position mustn't become a retirement option for someone the Government owes a favour.

And why would we think we'd be any better at choosing a President than the US, or Brazil, or the Philippines, or any body else for that matter.  I don't think there's any doubt that most of the settled, successful countries in the world are constitutional monarchies: the Netherlands, Japan, Canada, the Scandinavian countries and so on.

Maybe there's something to be said for having a figurehead from a family on the other side of the world.

I

Thursday, September 21

I had to get a haircut yesterday afternoon; its was supposed to be last week but I forgot and had to postpone it.  I used to go to Spike's Barber Shop in Launceston which suited me fine; it was old-fashioned with rounded chrome chairs and the smell of Bay Rum, no appointments, just turn up and wait your turn. I got fed up, though, with trying to find a parking spot in the city and there were no parking stations in the vicinity.

Marilyn had opted for a salon in Longford and seemed reasonably happy so I gave them a go too, and I'm now a regular.  It's more your ladies' salon but they're happy to take blokes as well. I have a regular hairdresser who knows her stuff and happily deals with my moustache and eyebrows.

When I turned up today, the salon was full of school kids.  The waiting room only has three chairs and they were all occupied by rough-looking primary school kids with their mothers standing around with folded arms.  I wanted to tell the kids to let the adults sit down but that wasn't going to go down well.  One of the hairdressers took me through to the back of the shop and sat me down at one of the tables to wait for Brittany which gave me a chance to have a good look around.  The building is a maze of small rooms, all with three or four workstations.  I think it was the original Policee Station of the town so the rooms might have been the cells.

A hairdressing salon could be one of the nine Circles of Hell in Dante's Inferno.  This particular salon is tiny so it's crowded, the noise is appalling with hairdressers and their clients and, in today's case, the mums of the hordes of kids all yelling at each other, innumerable hairdryers all going full blast and, somewhere in the background, there is a radio tuned to some afternoon chat program.  The air is perfumed with all the noxious fluids which are part of the hairdressing ritual. There's no room to move around and the poor hairdressers have to sweep the floor after every clip to keep some semblance of order. And this particular salon has a Beverage Menu so the hairdressers have also to find time to make coffees and, worse, cocktails.  Who, in their right mind would enjoy a cocktail while the air around them is filled with flying hair particles?

Dante, of course, never experienced such a thing but I'm sure if he had he would have found room to have a tenth circle in his famous poem.

I survived and asked for my next appointment for a time when all the kids will be at school.

Wednesday, September 21

One of our members at the Probus meeting yesterday received an effusive congratulations from our President.  It's not unusual for someone to be singled out for one thing or another but it's usually on the birth of a new great-granchild or a birthday milestone.  At our age, we don't have many personal achievements of note.

Yesterday's was no exception.  Kevin was warmly congratulated on something his son had done - a son who doesn't even live in Tasmania. His son is Adam Eggins, winemaker with Taylors Wine in South Australia.  Apparently, Taylors has just won a big international award.  Our President, breathlessly, said it was for producing the BEST red wine IN THE WORLD.  I don't know the details and haven't bothered looking it up but Kevin was tickled pink and the acknowledgement made his day.  His comment was that some good things have come out of Deloraine High School.  The wine is a Shiraz and Australia has the reputation of making consistently good wines with this grape.

Kevin said the French and the Italians were not pleased with Taylors' success.  It fact, it might be said they were 'miffed' which is slightly more than 'annoyed' but less than 'furious'.

Tuesday, September 20

 It's our Probus meeting today so I'll give the gym a miss.  My plan was a leisurely breakfast, shower and dress, scribble a few words to keep my multitude of readers quiet and leave at about 8.45.  Then I scanned the news to see if there was anything worth reading and couldn't believe my luck: there's a story about the Big Potato at Robertson, filled with snide remarks, puns and references to poo. Fantastic!

Apparently, it's been sold and the previous owner, Melanie Tait, is celebrating.  She says, 'Thank Godfordshire  I won't have to talk to any more commercial radio hosts and pretend that their jokes comparing the Big Potato to a poo are funny."  Thank Godfordshire?  I've never hear that expression before.  What a wonderful euphemism to avoid upsetting the religious lobby.

Ms Tait mentioned some of the messages she received when her friends heard the news.  "This news has mashed me up. I'm wedged between joy and sadness.  Is there no way we could hash this out?  Perhaps if we all chip in?"

There's one sliver of good news.  It seems Melanie has written a play called The Appleton Ladies Potato Race and a movie about it is being shot in Robertson later this year - with a strong supporting role for the Big Potato.

Monday, September 19

I haven't lived in Wollongong for over fifty years but I still react when a newspaper headline alerts me to a story about The Gong.  Today, it was about magpies, my favourite bird.  I love their songs and their attitude.  Poets have written poems about them and they have a special place in the Australia psyche.

But what if you're an elite cyclist taking part in the UCI Road World Championships, which is being held this year in Wollongong?  What do you do if you're faced with a sign that says "Birds swooping!  Dismount and walk your bike through this area.  Birds are nesting in this area."

The finishing line for the race is right near the sign and, as the report said, "magpies have been causing chaos for the world's best cyclists."

What is this doing for Australia's image as a sporting nation?  Can we afford for our status to be diminished by a handful of black and white saboteurs?  Of course, any mug could have told the organisers that magpies are known to swoop on passers-by in nesting season.  Every year, the tabloid newspapers indulge in stories about terrorised school-children and bicycle messengers.  There are images of the creative ways that kids find to deal with the menace: elaborate hats, umbrellas with eyes on them and so on.

Somebody might have warned the organisers of the race that Lang Park is almost enemy territory in September.  The Council wouldn't have expended money on a sign if it wasn't a problem.  We're a laughing stock!  I can just see sports organisers around the world sniggering into their morning coffee about the ineptitude of Australia Cycle Event organisers. It will take years to live down this disgrace.

Sunday, September 18

Sunday, but no day of rest for us.  We're off to a party this evening and we have to take a plate so Marilyn has opted for a plate of sandwiches.  I've already dismantled the chicken, chopped the white meat and set aside the legs for later.

I made it to the gym by 8 o'clock and set about my normal program.  There were the usual familiar faces: the reluctant middle-aged man who goes through his routine without much energy, the older fellow trying to gain his youth by hammering away at the weights and the tiny woman who is like a demon on the treadmill.  She often signs in just before me and her signature contains two of the letter g and, the way she writes it encroaches on the space below, where I'm trying to write my name in a legible fashion. It offends my sense of what's right.

There were two newbies this morning: two tall dark women, I imagine African, dressed in some sort of sports uniform.  One was taller than me and the shorter one was about my height.  I assumed they were basketball or netball players but they might have been surgeons at the hospital or new drivers for the local buses.  In any case, it waa good to have a touch of the exotic to brighten up the morning.

I looked out the window while I was rowing and noticed a couple of cars at the oval opposite.  I assumed there is a game on today and the ground staff is here early to set up.  As I watched, a head appeared above the rim of a large wheelie bin and a fellow climbed out.  Had he been sleeping there, or was he a groundsman looking for a lost handbag? I suppose I'll never know.

Saturday, September 17

It's miserable here this morning: low-lying clouds and persistent rain.  I didn't want to go to the gym but I missed it yesterday and I don't want to fall into bad habits.  Marilyn warns me that we need to go into Launceston this afternoon to buy a wedding gift for a friend.  He's been living in the Philippines for many years, in a long-term relationship, but he's back in Australia now, living in Deloraine. 

The long-term relationship came to an end and he brought a new partner home with him; they married a couple of weeks ago in Albury and there is to be a party to celebrate the wedding tomorrow evening. 

Over breakfast, Marilyn suggests that, the weather being what it is, we won't bother about the trip to town; instead, we'll buy a nice plant and we can do that locally.  I'm keen to do that.  Geoff is over 80, he's been married at least twice before and probably has more 'stuff' than he needs. Another two-tiered cake stand is probably not necessary.

I suggest we write on the card - 'We hope your marriage thrives and flourishes like this plant' - but Marilyn's not keen.  "What happens if it dies?" she says.  Always the practical one.

Friday, September 16

There will be no gym this morning as I have to head to Hadspen to supervise an electrician.  He said he would be there at 9 o'clock but I'm not putting too much reliance on that.  Jamie and Nera are in Hobart as she winds down her program so dear told dad is called upon to fill the breach.  

If I can get internet access I might write some more but I'm not sure how successful I'll be.

Later - he was only there an hour so I hardly had time to get bored.  I almost missed him though.  There's on-going roadworks on the road between Longford and Hadspen and the delay this morning was particularly long so, a combination of my lateness and the electrician being a bit eager meant he turned into the driveway before I did.

I found him ringing the doorbell and looking puzzled but it was alright in the end.

Jamie and Nera have a security system and Nera's phone is alerted if it catches movement in the lounge room.  This morning, she looked at the screen and realised the electrician was putting up the new light fitting in the wrong room.  My fault, as I hadn't listened carefully enough to my instructions.  I like things to be written down and a diagram often helps.

Anyway, it was soon sorted out and everything is as it should be.

Thursday, September 15

We forgot that the cleaning lady was coming so when the doorbell rang I was still sitting around in my gym clothes and Marilyn was in the shower.  We got ourselves organised and headed to our little shopping centre for coffee.  There’s a Banjos there with a few tables so I set myself up while Marilyn wandered into the supermarket for a couple of things we couldn’t do without.

 

While I was sitting there, a tall gentleman appeared in my line of sight.  He was dressed like the landed gentry; country shirt with a padded jacket, flat tweed cap, corduroy trousers and riding boots.  He looked at me and said something, came closer and said, accusingly, “You’re not Frank!”

 

‘No, I’m not,” I said, smothering a smart remark.

 

He started to explain that he thought I was Frank Nott and was clearly keen to have a conversation.  He told me he had a property somewhere around Conara Junction but now lived at Westbury.  He was in town to see a doctor, had attended Launceston Grammar but transferred to Scotch College because he was bullied.  He wanted to know how old I was and seemed pleased that he was a year younger.

 

Marilyn appeared then and was astounded to see me in conversation.  She must have given out some friendlier vibes because he sat down at our table.  He showed us his scar where he had had an operation on his carotid artery and happily swapped health stories until Marilyn said we really had to go.

 

When we got back home, Leah had finished so Marilyn started lunch while I hung out the washing.  Just another day ….

Wednesday, September 14

I woke at about 5 this morning and wandered through to relieve my bladder.  It's not unusual but I find it hard to get back to sleep when it happens and I don't want to read and disturb Marilyn.  My mind is reasonably active, and I find myself thinking about what might happen during the day: not much, usually, so I fall back on what I might write in the blog.

I became aware that I was thinking of a list: like a shopping list or a list of things to do.  In my mind it was typed but, as I concentrated on it, it faded away leaving just one item.  

The numeral 6, followed by a full stop, two spaces and The Rivers of Ada full stop.

6.  The Rivers of Ada.

I knew I had to get up before that too faded from my brain.  It might be important and have some significance that I haven't considered.  My first thought is that it might be a book by someone like H. Rider Haggard or Edgar Rice Burroughs.  African, maybe, with Tarzan in it.

As usual, when I'm puzzled, I turn to the internet.  I type it in and there's no match for that phrase but, intriguingly, I discover that there is an Ada River in East Gippsland Victoria.  It's noted as 'perennial' and has a boutique winery there, a campground and is the site of the Ada River Car Rally.

Now what do I do with that information?  Maybe I'll just let it go and put it down to my fevered imagination.

Tuesday, September 13

I headed off to the gym this morning, not having had breakfast.  I slept in until 7.30 but I was still keen to get to the gym before 8 o'clock when the 'rush' starts.  By 'rush' I mean more than 4 people and especially one particular husband and wife combo who use the same machines as I do.  They're particularly keen on the rowing machines and, as there are only two, I am likely to miss out unless I'm careful.

I was there by 8.10 and started my routine: 7 minutes on the bike, then on to the various machines, keeping an eye on the door in case the twosome arrived.  I don't like to row straight after the bike as it seems to upset my flow.  It works better if I do something else in between.  Sadly, my focus was interrupted and I didn't notice them arriving.

Too late!  They've commandeered the two machines and I'm faced with a ten- or fifteen- minute wait until one or both are finished.  I choose to go home for breakfast instead.

Monday, September 12

We watched a program on TV last night which talked about the late Queen's visits to Australia and I was delighted when they focused on Wollongong on her first visit in 1954.  It was February 12, two days after my eleventh birthday and I was in 6th class at Gwynneville Primary School.  We were bused to Wollongong Showgrounds with thousands of other kids.  Schools in outlying areas had come in by train and we all waited for hours for her to arrive.

She arrived in Wollongong by train and her car drove down Crown Street, past Waters Department Store, past Herbie Herds, Men's Tailor, past the Spot Cafe, famous for its Ice Cream Spiders, past Walter Lance and Company and Maloufs the Haberdasher and into the Showgrounds. The car was open and the Queen and Prince Philip stood in the back waving to the crowds.  The newspapers reported that the school students there were so excited, we broke ranks and rushed forward to get a better look.

The Head Girl of Wollongong High School, Margaret Somebody, made a speech of welcome while trying to control her hat which was trying to escape into the strong wind.

After a few words, the royal couple left and were driven to Slacky Flat where another crowd of kids, including Marilyn, were waiting in anticipation.

Sixty-eight years ago and it seems like yesterday (I've always wanted to say that).