Sunday, May 1

 In 1927, a professor at a laboratory in Brisbane warmed up some pitch and put it in a sealed funnel.  Pitch is a black substance, like tar but hard and brittle.  Three years later, the professor cut the end off the funnel and put it on a tripod over a container.

 

It took eight years but, eventually, a drop of the pitch fell into the container.  The object of the experiment was to prove that pitch is a liquid, not a solid.  Since that first drop, eight more have fallen, the latest in April 2014.  It’s not a regular thing and depends on the environment. Sometimes the apparatus has been in a cupboard, at other times in a draughty corridor, under cool fluorescent tubes or hot halogen lights.

 

The funny thing is that no one has seen a drop fall.  At the Brisbane Expo, four or five people watched it constantly; it was a hot day so they went out for a drink .. and the drop dropped.  In 2000, a live stream was set up for a Millennium Event but an electrical storm cut the power, and the drop dropped.  

 

The Pitch Drop experiment is looked after by a senior scientist.  John Mainstone took on the responsibility in 1961.  In April 2014, he told his wife he wouldn’t be home because he believed a drop was imminent.  He stayed at his post all Friday night and all day Saturday, Saturday night and Sunday.  By Sunday evening, exhausted, he went home … and the drop dropped.

 

The current custodian is Professor Andrew White and more than 35000 people in 160 countries today are sweating on the 10^th drop through a live internet feed.  Probably they’ll be waiting a while yet.  Pitch flows 10 times slower than continental drift.

Saturday, April 30

I have been going to my Friday Writing Group for a while now and I still look forward to it.  We all read a story we've written and make the usual polite noises of appreciation, but we're all amateurs and the stories are usually pretty ordinary.

On a very rare occasion, someone's story will strike a chord and the appreciation of it will be genuine.  It happened to me yesterday.  The topic was 'No Turning Back' and I resurrected a poem I wrote years ago about Grey Nomads.  It was about retirement and I was suggesting that when you go into retirement, there's no turning back. I know, it's a bit of a stretch but I've been looking for an opportunity to use the poem and this seemed appropriate.

Something about the poem hit the spot and I had the best applause I've ever had.  Some people asked for a copy and that's never happened before.  So, here it is:

NO TURNING BACK                                                             APRIL 29, 2022   

                                                     

When your days of toil are over and it’s time to take a break
There are options to consider and decisions you must make
For years you’ve spent each waking hour in trying to earn a crust
And now you’ve got to fill your days or your brain will start to rust.

Perhaps it’s time to take up bowls or join a cycling club
Or learn to play the oboe, or take refuge in the pub
Some take delight in reading books or watching DVDs
But I’m sure you’ll find you’ll soon get tired of nothing more than these.

Some folks take up cruising on the ocean wide and blue
And you might think that could be fun but it might be boring too
Some learn to use the internet, work out the family tree
Others think it’s pretty smart to get one more degree.

Your house is worth a million and that’s a tidy sum
And you know the kids have worked it out, although they’re playing dumb
The grand-kids talk of Disneyland when Nan and Pop are dead
You’re worth more to them when you’re gone, a truth that must be said.

Each time they come to visit you, only once in a blue moon
You can see the dollar signs in their eyes and they think, Will it be soon?
They look at you to calculate how long you might survive
Yes, how much longer will you live, when you’re only sixty-five.

You know there’s just one answer to make your last years fun
Sell the house, buy a ‘van and let the good times run
Join the Nomad army, grab freedom on the road
No more wasted afternoons, no lawns to be mowed.

With your Cruiser and your Jayco, your days will be your own
You can drive or you can sit around, your worries will have flown
You can feel the joys of this brown land and see what you can see
With new-made friends to pass the time and fill the hours with glee.

Live life as it was meant to be, with countless things to do
With every day a new delight and a new adventure too
There’s lots in this great country to make us shout and cheer
So pack your bags, hitch up the van - it’s off for another year.

 

There’s just one thing I need to say to emphasise this notion

Point your ‘van and do your best to reach the Indian Ocean

It won’t be highways all the way, some roads will be a track

Just set your course, trust to luck, and remember - no turning back.

Friday, April 29

Every now and again I stumble across an article about the music that people choose to have played at their funeral.  Some choices are surprising but I suppose, in today’s self-centred society, people want to go out with as big a bang as possible and leave something behind that their friends can talk about afterward: “Did you hear what whatsisname had played at his funeral?”  Who could resist a challenge like that?

 

I’d read somewhere that the most popular song at UK funerals was “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” by Monty Python but this week it seems that it has been superseded by “My Way” by Frank Sinatra.  What an arrogant, self-indulgent, self-serving travesty of a song that is.  You might think you lived your life your way but only if you included the proviso ‘as limited by the laws of the land and the expectations of polite society’. 

 

Other funeral favourites are “Time to Say Goodbye” by Sarah Brightman and Andrea Boccelli, and “Wind Beneath My Wings” by Bette Midler, not forgetting ACDC’s “Highway to Hell” and Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” for the non-conformists.

 

I don’t know what I would like.  Monty Python appeals because it’s just bizarre enough to be interesting but maybe it’s been done to death (boom boom!). Something self-effacing like Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used to Know” has its attractions.  It would be nice to leave people scratching their heads and saying, ‘What was he thinking?’

Thursday, April 28

When I was whinging last week about the death of my fleet of computers, I neglected to mention Marilyn’s iPad mini.  She’s had it for ages and it has been successfully operating as a reader for the last couple of years.  We don’t read many ‘real’ books nowadays, preferring to download ebooks or borrow electronic copies from the library. We've retired our original ebook readers and I now use a Samsung A5 Tab which Jamie received as a 'freebie' when he bought something and Marilyn relies on the vintage iPad mini which she's had for a while.This arrangement might have continued, until we were caught out by Apple’s policy of withdrawing support for older models.  This is, in effect, forced redundancy.

 

Without the ability to upgrade older models, the workability disappears.  The other day, when I tried to load some new downloaded books on to the iPad, it advised me that I needed to upgrade the operating system.  When I went to the Apple site to do just that, I was confronted with the statement that they no longer support this model: in effect, don’t be a cheapskate, buy a new one.

 

What can you do?  I bought a new one, but I made it a Windows model (another Samsung Tab) rather than an Apple.  Why should I reward their anti-social behaviour?

Wednesday, April 27

This fellow, Scott, that I've been watching on Youtube revealed that he had worked for years with Thomas  Cook Travel and lost his job when the company folded.  He now spends his time travelling around, making these trivial videos for the amusement of armchair-bound adventurers around the world.  In the little snippet I watched this morning, he mentioned the interesting complaints his company received from time to time from their customers returning from holidays. He swears they are true but they sound a bit too much like other lists I've heard of in other contexts.

"I wasn't happy that most of the restaurants in Goa only serve curry.  I don't like spicy food."

"I had trouble in Madrid because most of the taxi-drivers were Spanish."

"The beach was too sandy.  I spent ages shaking it out of all our stuff."

I can't remember the others and it's probably just as well.

I've just received an email telling me that a parcel I've ordered will be delivered today.  There are a few orders in the pipeline but I think this one is a collection of dog toys for Archie.  I know, it's daft, but sometimes we don't always make the most sensible decision.  Archie was given a parcel for Christmas and one of the items was a little red and white squeaky toy.  He took a shine to it and it has now been chewed to death.  We couldn't find anything similar in the local shops so turned to eBay.  He's not here today so Marilyn will hide the parcel away until he comes next and we'll all enjoy watching him open it.

Yes, we're as stupid as he is. 

Tuesday, April 26

I took Archie out for his walk last night just after 6.  Even though it's generally Marilyn who takes him, he knows his routine so he turned left at the footpath and dragged me along to all his favourite sniffing spots, stopping every now and then to leave his mark.  It's not a time that I'm usually out and about and it was interesting to see the familiar houses in a different light.

Most of them had not yet drawn their curtains so their yards were bathed in light.  Through one window, I saw the biggest TV you could imagine, from others I could see the vaguely flickering lights and the sound of hysterical kids' shows.  There was the smell of cooking from others: either they have an exhaust fan or they have left their window open.

It was clear that winter is here; the air was misty and there was a strong smell of smoke from the wood fires which have been lit, probably for the first time this week.

You know you're in Tasmania in winter if you can smell the burning eucalyptus logs.

Monday, April 25

Jamie has just arrived to drop Archie off and to boast about how successful their fishing trip was last night.  They've been catching mackerel which take the bait close to the surface but, for a change, they decided to fish on the bottom and they caught some large whiting and a couta.  It's like talking to someone from another planet; I can't get my head around the idea that a husband and wife would go fishing together, sitting on a draughty cold wharf in the dark, spiking their fingers on hooks and getting their hands all slippery with fish gills.

Marilyn's father, Bill, would have loved to be involved in this whole business.

I remember in 1950, Mum took my brother and me to visit Dad's family in Johnshaven on Scotland's east coast. Uncle Archie brought Aunt Mabel up to visit us on the back of his motor-bike and someone invited us to go out in a little boat to fish in the bay. I have a clear memory of several large mackerel lying in the bottom of the boat with their scales shining in the sun.

As I was typing that, I have a feeling that I've written this anecdote before.  If so, I apologise; they say you tend to repeat yourself as you get older.

Sunday, April 24

I made my first winter stew yesterday.  In our house, I'm responsible for casseroles and soups because they're my favourite meals.  I have a number of different recipes but they all have a nodding acquaintance with the food my mother used to cook.

Yesterday, I started with four good lamb chops from the local abattoir.  I had been to the supermarket and bought carrots, red potatoes, parsnips, turnips and onions.  I had also put about one-third of a cup of barley to soak overnight.  I divided the chops into three or four pieces each and browned them in the frypan. Into the slow-cooker, I put the pieces of meat, chopped vegetables and the barley, with about half a litre of chicken stock and salt and pepper.

All done, and just a matter of leaving it to look after itself until it smells right. I finished it off with a couple of handfuls of frozen peas and  it's  a meal fit for a king.  That lot made about four good servings and so I'm sorted until Tuesday unless Jamie comes around and smells the breeze.  If he knows there's lamb stew in the house, he'll expect his share.

Saturday, April 23

 I get a regular feed on my email from a site called Quora, where (mostly) Americans ask questions for other people to answer.  I'm amazed at the naivety of some of the queries and occasionally there is a little gem of an answer like the one I opened this morning:

'How often in Australia are you faced with a kangaroo at your screen door? Do they stay there if the lights are off?'

The answer came from Keith White, former scientist now just old, opinionated and retired.

'All of our kangaroos are locked up securely in the "Kangaroo House" each night and they are not free to just roam.

Letting them roam would be just stupid!

The "Kangaroo House" is a lot like a regular big barn but it has some unique features - specially for Kangaroos.

My kids feed them and then let them out in the morning - when they saddle them up and ride them to school - well not my 4-year old - she still rides in the pouch - but she will probably get her own K-Saddle this Christmas.

At school they have a special "Top Paddock" where the Kangaroos can play together and eat while the kids are at school.

Hence the saying - usually reserved for School Principals - "He has a few Kangaroos loose in the top paddock" ...

It's cruel to be unkind to the less fortunate but sometimes you can't resist.  I wonder if the writer of the question realised he was being sent up.

Friday, April 22

We had a cheerful little note from the Tasmanian Electoral Commission reminding us that we have to vote in 2 elections this year: the more celebrated Federal Poll and a low-key affair to find someone to represent us in the Legislative Council, Tasmania's Upper House.

The Tasmanian Government is an odd beast.  We use the Hare-Clark system so the Lower House has five electorates which are the same as for Federal elections.  We vote in 5 members from each electorate, making 25 in all.  The Legislative Council is similar to the Senate in the Commonwealth Parliament but has 15 members representing a whole new lot of electorates.  We're in McIntyre, apparently.

For most of its history the Legislative Council has only allowed members who have no political affiliation.  As if!  It was always easy to spot the Lib. or the Lab. and the Greens were glaringly obvious.  So, in 2021, the farce was laid aside and people are now able to run under their party banner.  We have three candidates to choose from: 2 Independents and 1 Green.  One is named Downie and is probably associated with a big farming family from the Tasman Peninsula, another is called Rattray and I think she stood as a Liberal candidate in a previous election, and the third is called Houghton and all I know about him is he is a member of the Tasmanian Greens.

We go to the polls on May 7th but the whole thing is very low-key.  Apparently it is compulsory to vote but I don't remember ever doing so in the past.

Thursday, April 21

Things are staring to look up; I got my MacBook back today, all cleaned up and ready to go.  When I say 'cleaned up' I mean scrubbed clean of most of the stuff I had saved and the programs that I use regularly.  First and foremost, I need to re-instal Word so I can keep up with the demands of the blog and the stories for the Friday Writing Group.

The Word program that I use is part of a multi-user arrangement that Jamie has set up.  One subscription covers him and Nera, Marilyn and me and several of Nera's sisters and nephews in Balatan.  I'ts a great arrangement, and saves me some money, but it means I need to go through a certain rigmarole to get access to it again.

He and Nera have gone to Devonport for a couple of days so I'll have to wait until he gets back to organise that.  Don't ask me how I am able to write this message without Word; blogger must have its own word processor built in, or something.  Like Sergeant Schulz, 'I know nothing!'

There's a fellow on YouTube I've been watching for a few weeks now. He posts under the umbrella 'Planes, Trains and Everything' and his name is Scott.  He is a Scotsman and has one of those 'lived-in' faces you might see on any draughty Scottish railway station, dragging on a fag and shivering with cold.  There's no point to most of his little videos: one might show him travelling on a new train or visiting the smallest station on the network, but today he branched out and set himself a challenge to travel on 2 buses, 2 trains and 3 ferries in one day.  Hardly riveting stuff but it does show how people live in out-of-the-way places and how they entertain themselves.

It makes me think how nice it would be if we had a proper integrated public transport system like other advanced countries in the world.  Here in Tasmania we are dependent on personal cars and, if that fails, we have to ring an Uber. Not good enough!

Wednesday, April 20

 In among all the breathless articles about the forthcoming Federal election, I stumbled across a delightful little story about a rogue sheep in New Zealand which went walkabout and evaded its pursuers for three years.  In that time, it missed three rounds of shearing so, when it was finally introduced to the shears, it produced an 18.6 Kg fleece, which is around half its body weight.

The beast has been nicknamed Shrekapo: a combination of Shrek, of course, and Tekapo, the name of the nearby lake.  He was spotted hiding among some rocks and was re-captured.  The fleece was not a record, by any means: that honour is held by another runaway who was AWOL for 6 years and whose fleece weighed 27Kg.  He carried the nickname Shrek as well.

I hope kiwi farmers are getting better prices for their wool than we are in Tasmania.  A local friend is in the process of transforming his farm into dairy production.  In past years he has run sheep and he has always used itinerant Maori shearers and this year they cost him $29 000 in wages.  Sadly, he only received $6000 for the clip.  If this is being replicated across Australia, we'll soon be wearing clothes with no natural fibre at all, unless NZ farmers can find a few more delinquent sheep hiding among the manuka trees.

Tuesday, April 19

 It's our Probus meeting today; I don't find them as interesting as I once did but it's a way of getting out of the house and a reason to have to make conversation.  The woman who looks after Morning Tea will be absent so Marilyn has offered to take that job on.  Easy, really.  She only has to butter 96 halves of Easter Bun, open several packets of biscuits, switch on the urn beforehand, get out all the mugs and teaspoons and napkins and wooden stirrers from the cupboard and wash up and then put everything back where she found it afterward.

The so-called Executive always gets together on the Saturday before the meeting to sort out the program.  Marilyn and I are always invited though neither of us has an official role.  They used to meet at our place as well but the President has just moved and wanted to show off her new house.  

I despair of ever being able to take a back seat.  I think it was Gilligan from Gilligan's Island who used to say, "I'm going to run away and become a helmet," and I know how he feels.

Monday, April 18

 Months ago, Marilyn and I both applied to work at the upcoming election.  I've been involved in elections over a number of years but, buoyed by her success with the Census, Marilyn put her hand up for the first time. I had been in two minds about it; it's a long day and I'm not as fit as I would like.  My last stint was as Officer-in-Charge and I vowed I would never take a lead role again so I was careful to specify in my application that I was only interested in being an off-sider.

Someone didn't read the applications as my first offer was to be OIC at an inner-city polling station in Launceston.  I refused and another offer came a week or two later: to work as a general dogsbody at the small booth at Dilston.  I had been 2IC there the election before last and it was quite pleasant but, again, I told them I wasn't interested.  I remember we had to count the Senate papers on the floor because we didn't have enough tables and I wasn't going through that again.

Marilyn has been offered a place at the local Longford booth and she's delighted to accept.  We spent yesterday afternoon completing her on-line training and, as you would expect, it's all about COVID.  She sailed through the training and we're now into the countdown for the big day.

 

Sunday, April 17

What a week it has been. The third of my computers has given up the ghost. The hp desktop has been struggling in first gear for weeks now, the Macbook Air which I borrowed from Nera is in the Mac shop waiting for repairs and, yesterday, a Surface tablet which I use for writing 'on the go' refuses to charge up.

If I need to access the internet, I'm now reduced to a shabby little 7inch Samsung Tab A which I have, until now, just been using for reading. Of course, I have my super-duper phone which I'm told has more computer power than the Apollo 11 Shuttle which went to the Moon but that's no consolation as the buttons are too small for me to use comfortably.

Some people might say that I've been spoilt by having too much of a good thing and I'm now suffering the consequences of my over-indulgence.  Of course, I wouldn't agree but I'm sure the Greeks had tales to tell of people who were made to suffer for their greed.

Anyway, I feel better having had this little bit of a whinge.

Saturday, April 16

 It's Mum's birthday today and she would be turning 101, and it's also our great-granddaughter, Juniper's birthday.  It's a very happy coincidence.

Yesterday, I was browsing through Youtube looking for some inspiration and I found a video on Vladivostok; in fact, there were several but most of them seemed to be about the Trans-Siberian Railway and that didn't appeal.  The one I finally opened was a simple travel diary about a visit to the city.  The American presenter spoke Russian so it wasn't just a string of pretty scenes and inane monologue.

We visited Vladivostok on a cruise in June 2012.  I've gone back to my blog and noted that we sailed from Yokohama and visited two other ports in Japan before sailing across the Sea of Japan to this Russian port.  At that time, I thought of Russia as a frightening place; memories of the Cold War were still in our minds and our ideas of the typical Russian were coloured by thoughts of  Mr Kruschev hammering his shoe on the table and saying, "We will bury you."

It wasn't quite like that but there were still firm guidelines for tourists and we just couldn't go wandering about on our own.  This new video shows a much more open and prosperous society and it was suggested it benefits from being a long way from Moscow.  It has three very wealthy countries close by whose people are keen travellers so the number of Japanese, Chinese and South Korean visitors is growing every year.

There is a real problem with crumbling infrastructure and litter but at least some of the locals are trying to do something to clean up the environment.

Friday, April 15

 I had to make a quick trip into Launceston yesterday afternoon.  The Apple iMac that Nera lent me has developed a problem and needed a technician to look at it.  It couldn't happen at a worse time; even if they fix it immediately, the shop won't be open again until, I think, Tuesday.

The fellow who booked the thing in asked me how long I had had it.  I explained the provenance: first owned by a school in Latrobe and used by innumerable students, then bought by my daughter- in- law for a few hundred dollars, and lent to me. It seems there are lots of this model floating around, having out-lived their usefulness in various schools and it's almost cheaper to buy another one than pay the exorbitant charges that Apple thinks appropriate. 

However, my immediate problem is get through the next few days with only a decrepit old desktop to fall back on.

Thursday, April 14

I've been driving since 1962 and it's time I brought up something that has been bugging me all that time.  Why, oh why, are most speedometers black with white writing?  I dimly remember driving one car where the face of the speedo was white and the writing black and I can recall it was so much easier to see.  Is there a reason why they're not all like that?

Signor Stefani Pasini, an ophthalmologist wrote: 

'The classic analogue instrument with black dial and white needle provides an optimized layout with an excellent contrast and unsurpassed overall readability. It is ergonomically sound, cheap to build and easy to illuminate by night.'

His argument is that it is difficult to effectively illuminate dials with a white background at night.  My response to Signor Pasini is  "Rubbish!" Most of our driving is done in the daytime and that is when there is more traffic on the roads and more chance of something going wrong. Perhaps Signor Perini is only used to the grey skies of Europe and his opinions are affected by that limitation.

In Australia we are lucky enough to live in a country where bright sunshine is the norm rather than the exception.  Typically, then, drivers have to wear sunglasses.  When you're wearing sunglasses, it's impossible to read your black-dialed speedometer to check that you're driving within the limit.  I find myself removing my glasses, blinking a couple of time to clear my vision before peering at the dial to see whether I am driving safely.  And, in fact, because of the rigmarole of removing glasses, blinking and so on, I'm not driving as safely as I might be.

Even on a dull day, it takes a couple of seconds for your eyes to adjust from looking into the distance to looking at something just 60cm away.  In those few seconds, the driver is not focused on what's important.

Maybe it's time someone invented a voice-activated speedometer. Like Alexa, the dim-witted person who voices my pointless Amazon device, it would have to be given a name.  It seems to me like a Kevin.  "Kevin, how fast am I going?"  "You're doing 97 Km/hr, sir, and driving as safely as if you were taking your mother to church."  I wonder if it would catch on.

Wednesday, April 13

The last time I saw the doctor he told me my blood sugar reading was a little high and I needed to get it down.  Easy for him to say!  I've already cut out a lot of things I enjoy: I'd reduced the amount of sugar in my coffee to one teaspoon, I stopped adding sugar to my cereal and rarely had more than one small piece of cake.

Anyway, I've done my best: I've cut out sugar entirely from my coffee now as well as my cereal, cake is a long-distant memory and I only have fresh fruit for dessert.  Marilyn found a box of Lindt Sea Shells in the pantry that someone had given us for Christmas.  I'd been very good so they were unopened and she suggested I take them along to my writing class to share them with less-disciplined individuals.  She warned me, though, that I should only have one, just to be sociable.

Sadly, when I opened the box they had all melted and flowed together into an amorphous mass .  Luckily no-one saw the mess and I quickly shoved the whole lot in the bin. 

They say that the way to get through life is to 'count your blessings'.  That's fair enough but as you get older the make-up of the list changes a lot.

Tuesday, April 12

 

We were delighted when we came to Longford to find that the local IGA food store was a branch of the Hill Street Grocer group.  The original Hill Street Grocer was in Hill Street, Hobart (funnily enough) and set itself up as a high-end, gourmet organisation providing a better product than the Coles/Woolies mass-market shops.  The original shop was inherited by Mario Nikitaris from his father and he and his wife decided to expand and establish other branches across the state.  I don’t know how many they have now but they seem to be popping up everywhere.  Mario prefers to buy up existing IGA stores although he has  established several larger stores from scratch.

 

Their philosophy is to provide as much Tasmanian-grown and -produced food as possible.  The fresh food on sale in their shops is certainly a big step-up from Woolies or Coles.  Marilyn won’t buy her fruit and vegetables anywhere else although we might fall back on Coles for things like toilet rolls and soda water.

 

They’ve grown quickly so I wasn’t surprised to find they have a wealthy backer who can put his hand on whatever cash is needed. His name is Robert Rockefeller but it has not been established whether he has any family connections in the US.  In any case, if you needed a financial backer, someone with the name Rockefeller would be my first choice.

Monday, April 11

 

We had an Eightieth Birthday Party to attend yesterday. We’ve known Maureen since we came to Tasmania in 2000.  She’s a member of the Bennett Family who are the closest we have to an aristocracy in this part of the world.  In 1983, her husband, Michael and his brother, John turned their dairy farm into Ashgrove Cheese and, in those nearly-forty years it has become a multi-million dollar enterprise.

 

The birthday gathering was at their daughter, Jane’s house not far from us. Jane was the company’s  first cheesemaker and she has gone on to be one of the most respected business-women in the state.  She advises governments, sits on boards and is a recognised high-flyer.  I wasn’t sure where her house was but, following the sat-nav we came to a letterbox with several balloons and a big ‘80^th Birthday’ sign.  “Here we are”, said Marilyn but we were wrong; it was someone else’s party.  We weren’t the only ones fooled; someone else was telling us they had driven in and had a drink before they realised their mistake.  That story sounds a little too good to be true.

 

It turned out to be a great day.  There were four generations of the family there and about fifty guests.  We had a very pleasant time with a wonderful lunch.  I particularly enjoyed the chance of talking to many of my mates from the time I was in the Deloraine Rotary Club.  I haven’t seen some of them for a couple of years and they’re certainly starting to look old.

 

When we came home, there was a message from Jamie to say that he and a mate had been fishing at Georgetown and had caught 14 mackerel.  We certainly live in the Land of Plenty.

Sunday, April 10

We avoid sweet foods when putting together our groceries order but, occasionally, Marilyn might pick up a treat.  Sometimes, she will grab a 4-pack of Portuguese Tarts which seem to be offered quite often at Woolworths. I was thinking of the last time we had them after one of my classmates mentioned them in her story at Writing Group. 

She claimed she had bought a 4-pack and paid about $5.50 and, when she read the label, discovered they were Made in Portugal.  What?  How ludicrous is it to import fresh custard tarts from the other side of the world?  Think of the infrastructure needed to get them to Sydney or Melbourne, and then transport them to Launceston and expect them still to be in edible condition. Think of the amount of jet fuel needed to fly them all those kilometres just so I can have one with my morning coffee.

Continuing with the story, she then claimed she had spoken to 'someone' who explained that the tarts arrived as raw puff pastry cases, together with prepared custard filling.  In Australia, the components were assembled and baked.  They were finished off with a sprinkle of cinnamon.  The packaging had to say Made in Portugal because that was their country of origin.

I hope that someone in Portugal takes note of the contribution that Australians are making to their economy.  Perhaps if tarts became more popular and more and more have to be exported, Portugal could experience a Tart-Driven Recovery.

Saturday, April 9

You see some funny people on the quiz shows we watch; the fellow on Who Wants to be a Millionaire yesterday (it was actually first shown in 2006) claimed to be a hypnotherapist. He had shoulder-length hair which looked like it had been permed and, of course, he was mercilessly teased by the host.  

"How does hypnotherapy help you answer these questions?" he was asked.

"Well, I like to clear my mind of all the clutter and then I think of the colour blue."

"What did I hear you muttering when I asked that question?"

"I was going through the possible answers, saying tink, tank, tonk, bink, bank, bonk.  As soon as I said bonk I knew that was right."

"How did you pick this answer?"

"I visualised the possible answers and this one was glowing."

Only in England!

Friday, April 8

Years ago I saw a documentary on ABC TV about a missing person in a town called Larrimah in the Northern Territory.  His name was Paddy Moriarty and, apparently, police thought he had been murdered; one of the suspects was a woman who ran a Devonshire Tea shop in the town and complained that Paddy was advising tourists not to go into the shop because the pies were awful and 'even me dog wouldn't eat them'.

I thought at the time it had all the elements of a great story and I wished I knew what the ending was.

The news yesterday had details of the inquest into Paddy's death which is being held at Katherine.  Fran Hodgetts, the tea house owner, is still 'in the frame' as well as another local called Wayne Ludwidge.  It seems Paddy might have been murdered by a mate of Mr Ludwidge who has some sort of link with the famous case of Robert Falconio.  It's been suggested that the murderer might have been paid $10000  by Ms Hodgetts to get rid of the bloke she said was ruining her business.

Police were given a tip-off that Paddy and his dog were both murdered and buried under a big tree with the dog on top.  "You'll find the dog first," was the advice.  The late news is that the inquest found that Paddy had been murdered and the police are making inquiries.

I can't wait for the next instalment.  In the meantime, there's a podcast 'Lost in Larrimah' and an episode of Conversations to follow up.

Thursday, March 7

We've been watching re-runs of the UK version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire?  I'm addicted to shouting out the answers at the screen and I always have my ipad handy so I can check if I don't know.  Today, we were watching the program from October 16, 2000.  I was able to answer that Al Gore's wife was named Tipper, that the word 'robot' comes from Czech, and that New Mexico does not have a border on the Gulf of Mexico, so I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.

The presenter is a fellow called Chris Tarrant who got his start in TV by presenting programs about railways.  He's OK but he wouldn't survive in TV today.  On today's program, the contestant was an attractive young woman with long reddish-blonde hair.  Whenever she got a question right, Chris jumped from his seat, grabbed her head and gave a her a kiss on the forehead.  Marilyn and I have become accustomed to modern sensibilities and instinctively drew back in horror.  We would describe it as an uninvited invasion of her personal space.  He doesn't do it with more mature ladies so there's certainly a sleazy element to it.

I wonder how Mr Tarrant feels when he watches the programs back.  Is he embarrassed or does he shrug and say they were different times?  Maybe he should have stuck to railways.

Wednesday, April 6

 I'm re-reading Gavin Menzies' book 1421, where he sets out the evidence for his belief that the Americas were settled by people who arrived by ship rather than by the so-called Alaskan land-bridge across the Bering Strait.  He says that the 'bridge' would only have been there during the Ice Ages and primitive people would not have ventured into such a dangerous environment.  There's a lot more to his proposition; for example, how did old-world plants and bacteria and animals get to the new world long before the recognised discoverers?

In passing, he mentions Russian efforts to build a road in this remote area of Siberia. Stalin sent thousands of political prisoners into this appalling environment to provide the labour for the enterprise.  Most of them died and their bones form the basis for the road.  Menzies told of at least one episode where some of the men complained; guards made them strip and hoses were turned on them.  In the cold conditions, the water froze and the men all died.  It's the reason it is called the Road of Bones.  Looking also at what is happening in Ukraine, I am very pleased that I wasn't born Russian.

Menzies is always making the case for his main proposition: that Chinese ships sailed around the world and 'discovered' continents long before people like Columbus and Dirk Hartog.  As an example, he points out that the fleas on wild pigs that live on Kangaroo Island off the coast of Western Australia are 'Chinese' fleas, not Dutch.

I know it's all a bit esoteric but sometimes you need a change from the sameness of fiction books.

Tuesday, April 5

 So, it seems that Tasmania's Premier has resigned, 'to spend more time with his family'.  In the past ten years has anyone in public life resigned without saying that?  It's been said so often, I think we'd be disappointed if it weren't trotted out.  At least Mr Gutwein pushed it a bit further and said he had spent the last three years focusing on everyone else's family and it was time to give his own a bit of priority.  Fair enough.  His second reason for resigning is that 'he has nothing left in the tank', which is probably more valid.  Steering a state through a pandemic would be seriously difficult and you'd deserve a rest.

The problem will be in finding a replacement.  Tasmania's lower house only has 25 members, 13 of whom are Liberal - the rest are Labor, Greens or Independent.  It's not a great pool to draw from.  There used to be 35 members but this was reduced in 1998.  It's cheaper to run, of course, but every Government member now has to look after 5 or 6 portfolios.  When someone resigns, others have to take an extra load.  The problem is compounded by the fact that 2 other ministers have resigned recently.

A couple of names are being mentioned but none of them inspire much confidence, and each of them has other responsibilities.  Wouldn't it be good if they could call on a senior member of the opposition to help out, but we'd have to see pigs in the sky before that would happen. Maybe an Independent?

Monday, April 4

I was thinking about our friend, Rhonda, who died the other day and it brought up memories of when we first met her, on our trip to Nepal in the first year of our retirement.  Nepal, for a long time had been in our minds.  Marilyn and I had both worked at the Outdoor Education Centre, Chakola for many years and had come in contact with people I regarded as intrepid travellers, who had been to places I could only dream about: Nepal, of course, but also India, South America, and even Antarctica.  We had dinner once with Sir Edmund Hillary and his wife and spent a great evening at a party where the guest of honour was Lincoln Hall who had almost died on his successful attempt to climb Everest.

One time, the Chakola people organised a trip to climb Mulkila, a lesser peak in Nepal and I was invited to join them.  I thanked them for the offer but proposed that it might be better if I ran Chakola in their absence.  However, getting to Nepal was always on the bucket list.  In the early 1980's, I booked Jamie and myself on a trek which would follow a trail around the foothills of Annapurna.  There was one high-pass which could be a bit difficult in bad weather but porters would carry all the gear and we would be well looked after.  It was not to be.  A friend who had just completed the same trip told some horror stories and we decided to cancel.

So, when Marilyn and I retired in 2010 and, by chance, received a flyer from National Seniors offering a trip to Nepal which would include staying in Kathmandu, having some time in Pokhara and flying in to Jomson on the Annapurna Circuit, we were hooked.  The fact that it was organised by National Seniors reassured us that it wouldn't be too onerous.  Rhonda and her friend, Diane, from Canberra were part of that trip.  It was brilliant.

I often see things on Facebook asking me to tick off, from a list, places we've been in the world.  They rarely list our favorite places, like Jomsom or Pokhara in Nepal, or Palawan in the Philipines.  Quality, not quantity, is our motto.

Here's a picture of our group.  Rhonda is in the centre of the front row.

Sunday, April 3

I've made a pledge to myself to write something in the blog every day.  I know the quality of my scribblings will vary from sublime prose to total garbage but it's the thought that counts (or my determination to fulfil my target).  But here I am faced with the author's curse: I have nothing to say.

We live a quiet life, don't watch much TV, never go to the movies, rarely have a visitor.  What could there be in our lives to comment on?  Longford is a small town with a small town's lack of excitement and variety, so there's nothing much happening here worthy of comment.  Even Launceston, our adjacent 'big' city, is just a sleepy regional centre. In any case, we don't listen to local radio or read the local paper so, again, how would be know what's going on?

Occasionally, we hear through the grapevine about an event but it's rare and we tend to dismiss these anyway; we don't want to know about anything that might disturb our quiet lives.  Maybe having nothing to say is the price I pay for being able to enjoy a quiet life.

Saturday, April 2

 I was talking to my friend, Jim, from Kangaroo Valley yesterday and he told me he was reading books by Alexander McCall Smith.  Years ago, I remember a TV series called The Number One Ladies Detective Agency based on books written by this author; I knew he was very prolific and his books were always a bit quirky, but I had never read any.

Jim's reading a series about a Swedish detective called Ulf Varg so I went to the the Tas. Library website looking for copies.  There were a couple, including an electronic copy of Varg in Love. A minute or two to download and I settled back to see if they were worth pursuing.  What a swindle!  The book was only ten pages long.  It wouldn't even qualify as a novelette or a short story.

I closed my tablet, unsatisfied.