Monday, August 1

It must be hard to be a reporter, always on the lookout for the next big story and it must be the most satisfying feeling when it suddenly drops in your lap, even if the the subject matter is a little bizarre.

There is one such story in this morning's news.  It's about Tim Goodwin who runs the post office in Peak Hill in Central NSW.  He's a Pom but that's alright.  As a child in England, in the early 70s, he played with Matchbox toys and had a favourite car: a pink Ford Capri.  He had it for a while and modified it a bit and painted it red when it started to show signs of wear.

One day, it went missing; apparently, a boy from down the street had pinched a number of cars from the garden shed, including the Ford Capri.  Such is life!

Fast forward to the current time and Tim is now settled in Peak Hill with his wife.  One day, he is idly browsing eBay and he starts to think about Ford Capris.  Are they still popular and how much might they be worth?  He does a search and on the fourth page of the results he sees his  car - mostly red but chipped to reveal the original pink paint, and Tim was absolutely sure.

The seller was in Doncaster, UK and was happy to sell the car for $34.62, including postage.  It's now sitting happily on the mantelpiece of Tim's home in Peak Hill.

It doesn't take much to make some people happy, does it?

Sunday, July 31

One of my favourite words, that I don't use enough, is ubiquitous. It's a good word with a very specific meaning but, to say it out loud sounds a bit pretentious.  However, one of the things in our society which has become ubiquitous is the humble tube, like the ones you get with toothpaste and so on.  Apparently, we've had them since the 1890's and Colgate claims the credit for introducing them to the market.

The first tubes were made of metal, a mixture of lead and tin and I don't want to think about the implications of putting something in my mouth which was stored in a container made of a lead alloy.  I can't find any evidence that this was a problem so maybe I'm just being over-cautious.  Anyway, it's rare to see a metal tube nowadays; plastic seems to have cornered the market.  

Years ago, Colgate introduced the toothpaste pump which they claimed was designed to 'solve the perennial problem - how to get the last little bit out of the tube.  And that's where the problem lies.

I buy a foot cream which comes in a tube and, in recent times, it has been. marketed in a fatter tube, apparently containing the same amount - 250gm.  Does the fatter tube make any difference?  Of course it does: that 'last little bit in the bottom of the tube' is a much bigger bit in the bottom of the tube.  It's all to do with a geometry.  If the smaller tube is 20cm in diameter, the formula to work out how much residue is left is 10x10 x pi x 5mm (say).  That is, the radius of the tube squared x pi x the depth of the residue.  

If the tube is wider (like my current foot cream tube), the formula is 22.5 x 22.5 x pi x 5mm.  Without working our the sums, the second tube secretes a residue more than 5 times the volume of the first.  If like most of the world, we chuck the tube out when we can't squeeze any more out of it, the manufacturer is making a little bit more profit.  We might like to think we are buying our foot relief product in a classier, more refined tube but, in fact, we're being ripped off by the manufacturer.

My advice to the men of the world who buy their foot cream in a modern fat tube: when you can't squeeze out another drop. cut off the bottom 3 or 4 cm of the tube.  You'll be surprised just how much you were about to throw away.

Saturday, July 30

It was minus 3 degrees at 7 o'clock this morning when I went through to put on the air conditioner.  I know that the recommendation is to leave it on 24 hours a day but I see no value in heating the whole house when we're in bed.  Marilyn normally stays in bed with a cup of coffee while I get organised but the bedroom was cold so she retreated to the lounge room when it was warm enough.

I had my usual quick breakfast and started off for the gym.  "Enjoy it!" she said, as she started on her second cup of coffee.  Enjoy it?  I certainly don't go for enjoyment.  If I wanted enjoyment, I'd be going to the movies.  I think she does it to upset me, knowing that I resent every second of heaving and lifting and bending and stretching.  But, it will be worth it in the end (?).

I missed the news that McDonalds was no longer in Russia, apparently as a response to the Russian invasion of Ukraine.  It's good to see that even the ultimate capitalist has some scruples.  Anyway, some mate of Putin's has taken over the old McDonald's restaurants and started a new chain called Vkusno and Tochka.  There are several ways to translate that; the company prefers 'Tasty, and That's it!' but others have suggested 'Tasty, fullstop!" or even 'Tasty, No Difference'.   Maybe I should have that motto put on a t-shirt.

Of course, the only important thing is that a new oligarch has been anointed.

Friday, July 29

We've just had a call from Jamie to say he and Nera are getting packed for their trip home.  They had a family gathering last night at a little town called Buhi, close to where they live.  I'd never heard of it but, apparently it has a population of over 80000 people and Launceston only has 66000, so not so little.  There were eight of them for dinner and the total bill was $58.  Nothing would have been stinted and they are all good eaters.

Jamie had heard the news of the Coral Princess cruise ship which had been reported as 'riddled' with Covid.  It seems to be a beat up but still worrying for us as we have to pay the final amount for our cruise in about a month.  We certainly don't want to go if there's Covid about but life has to go on and we've done all we can to protect ourselves.

Thursday, July 28

Sad news that an earthquake has hit the Philippines.  It's nowhere near where Jamie and Nera are but it's an area that Marilyn and I have visited in the past.  I think it was 2008 and we had already visited the country a couple of times.  A few members of our Rotary Club were interested so we were deputed to organise a group to visit clubs in Calamba and Santa Rosa.  There were four couples altogether and I remember the four men were all called John.

A fellow from Deloraine was already living in Santa Rosa so he took on the task of organising our itinerary and one of the things he arranged was a bus trip to the north of Luzon to see the World Heritage Rice Terraces.  It was fantastic.  On one of the days we travelled to the town of Sagada where they have a tradition of burying their dead in a cave or hanging from a cliff.  It was quite amazing to be standing in the cave surrounded by dozens of wooden coffins, some of which had split open and their bones spilled on the floor.  Some coffins had cracks in them and we could see skulls grinning at us through the openings.

The earthquake which is being reported on in the news this week was in an area just north of Sagada.  I hope the burial cave wasn't affected.

Wednesday, July 27

I don't know how I missed it but the European Quidditch Championships were held at the weekend in Limerick, Ireland.  The exciting news is that Australia won the Bronze Medal.  I need to follow this team more closely, mainly because they have chosen to be called The Dropbears.  Fabulous!  The mixed gender team of 3 males and 3 females beat Norway to steal the match.

I saw a clip of the match on the TV news and was intrigued that each participant played with a broomstick between his/her legs.  It's based, of course, on the game described in the Harry Potter books but it's disappointing that it can't be played up in the air like the real thing.

Tuesday, July 26

Most of the people who go to the gym are there alone so there's not much conversation that goes on.  The awful music fills the void.  I've mentioned before the group of three men who seem to appear every time I'm there.  Two of them are tall and are clever at making the right impression of dedicated athletes.  They wear muscle shirts  with sleeves cut off, track suit pants with the right logo and branded shoes.  One of them even has fingerless leather gloves to complement his outfit.  The third man, though, is a bit of a misfit: he wears ordinary t-shirts, tracky pants and generic sports shoes.  He's shorter than the other two but he seems to make an honest effort to do the same exercises as his mates.  

He let himself down a bit this morning, though, when he blurted out, "I have a bit of a tickle in my glutes."  I'm sure it's a genuine complaint and often suffered by weightlifters but it made me smile.

Monday, July 25

 It's cold and foggy this morning in Longford.  Archie was reluctant to go outside for his morning wee but with a little encouragement. he complied and is now sitting on his electric blanket looking sorry for himself.  My phone app tells me it's 5 degrees but I think it's wrong.

It's mornings like this when I'm glad I'm retired.  In the old days, my alarm would have gone off at 6.00 and I would have staggered out for a shower before I was fully awake.  I was driving the school bus in my last few years and so I would have had to be aware of icy patches on the roads and lunatic drivers who ignored the conditions and put the foot down.

Now, I have the luxury of turning over and going back to sleep if the mood strikes me.  Luckily, though, I have a healthy streak of Scottish puritanism and want to stick to my routine of being up and about by 7, with porridge on the plate by 7.15.  I will postpone my gym visit until later to let the outside air get a little warmer.

Sunday, July 24

I've been going to the gym at least 5 times a week for several months now and I'm starting to realise that my routine is taking me less and less time. Marilyn says I now come home looking as if I haven't exercised at all so I've decided to up the ante.

Starting yesterday, I increased the time on the bike by 20%, I'm doing 50% more strokes on the rowing machine and I've added one more set of reps on the three machines I use as well, which is an increase of one-third.  My thinking is that, if I plan my exercise routine in a scientific way, it will have a beneficial effect.  Quoting maths always has a positive effect on what people think.

When I look at the stats, I suspect that I need to do more on the bike so I'll address that tomorrow.

Saturday, July 23

I don't know what happened to Friday: somehow I neglected to write my morning thoughts so we'll never know what wisdom has been lost to the world.

I don't know where I'll be on October 6 but I wouldn't mind being in Carrbridge in Scotland.  It's a nondescript little town in the vicinity of Inverness and Aviemore but is becoming known for hosting the World Porridge  Making Contest.  The big prize, for the best porridge is the 'Golden Spurtle'!  For those not in the know, a spurtle is the thing used to stir the porridge. It's not a spoon; it's really no more than a stick.

Mum had a spurtle, made from a wooden spoon but, to make sure it wasn't mistaken for a spoon, she got Dad to saw off the bowl and sand down the splinters.  I have a spurtle, given to me by a friend, Derek, who found an interestingly-shaped stick which he worked on and made what I regard as a work of art.  Unfortunately, I don't use it now as I am getting too lazy to follow the old traditions, but it sits among the other art treasures in the lounge room.

Last year's winner at Carrbridge was Miriam Groot of the Netherlands.  She may never have seen Carrbridge; because of Covid, the 2020 and 2021 competitions were 'virtual'.  Entrants sent a video of themselves making porridge and explaining their specialty recipe.  I can't imagine how it could be judged fairly.

I have porridge nearly every morning and my specialty recipe could not be more simple.  I use generic oats, bought in a plastic bag but which I transfer to a large plastic jar with a red lid.  When I make my porridge, I put one lidful of the oats into a pyrex jug, add a small handful of sultanas and a half-teaspoon of salt.  Cover with cold water and cook for 2 minutes in the microwave.  Stir (with an ordinary spoon), and cook for another minute.  Stir, cook for 30 seconds; stir and cook for a final 30 seconds.

It may not win the Golden Spurtle but it works for me.

Thursday, July 21

I've just typed the date at the top of the page: carefully, because I don't want there to be any mistakes.  It's as if today has some special significance; as if, in 100 year's time, someone will sift through the ashes of our civilisation to see what scribes have written about it, this momentous day when the world changed.

It's early yet but my guess is that today will be just one more day like literally millions of others.  I don't expect there to be any momentous event, like the second coming of Jesus, will occur this afternoon.  But you never know.  If I'm proven wrong and something significant occurs, I hope I will be able to add to this post so that I can feel that I have kept up my end of some bargain.  In the meantime, I'll just go about today as it it were no different to any other day, but in the hope that I will be surprised.

Wednesday, July 20

Instead of our normal Probus meeting yesterday, we had Christmas in July in the dining room of the local motel.  This motel has been taken over recently by an old fellow who has a much younger Filipina wife, and they have decided to focus on good, inexpensive home-cooked food for their regular income rather than the odd traveler who is looking for a bed for the night.

They're doing very well and a lot of the locals are taking advantage of the Parmi and Drink special they offer.

They had gone to a lot of trouble for us: a Christmas tree and decorations and traditional Christmas food so we were happy.  The piece de resistance is that they have a pianola and we took advantage of that.  There are some of us whose legs won't allow too much pedalling but some of the ex-farmers had no trouble and the old songs rang out.  We finished with Show Me the Way to Go Home, which seemed appropriate.

Now Marilyn has decided she wants a pianola ... but where will we put it?

Tuesday, July 19

I've read a couple of reports recently which point out that we have a growing problem in Tasmania with feral deer.  Some surveys say that they gather in groups of several hundred and can cause enormous damage to farmers' crops, fences and waterholes.  Shooters are allowed to kill a few from time to time, but it is tightly controlled and it is illegal to sell the meat.  There's a lot of meat on a deer and there's only so much room in a home freezer, so the average shooter won't want to shoot too many and so won't make much of an impression on the available numbers. I wrote one time about getting hold of a piece of venison which I turned into an award-winning stew but, unless I buy a Remington, I'm unlikely to have that opportunity again.  If any deer hunters are reading this, I have a good recipe I'd like to use again.  You provide the venison, I'll provide the expertise and we can share the result.

There are shooters out there in the paddocks every night of the week shooting kangaroos for dog meat but the government can't bring itself to extend the licences to include deer.  

One year, when I was running the Tasmanian Craft Fair, I had an artist from the Great Lakes area who made jewellery and knick-knacks from deer antlers which she picked up on her walks.  Apparently, the animals shed their antlers each year so there were always plenty around.  She had a very attractive display which caught the attention of one of our visitors.  He turned out to be a ranger of some kind and he told her that deer were protected and it was illegal to collect their discarded antlers and certainly against the law to turn them into jewellery, for sale to the public.

She had to take all the antler-jewellery away from her stall.  The law is an ass!

Monday. July 18

Marilyn tells me we've reached the half-way point of Archie's stay with us.  Jamie and Nera have been away for two weeks and there are still two weeks to go.  So, I should try to analyse the effect he has had on our lives and whether having a dog is a reasonable thing for a retired couple to take on board.

We hear people say all the time, "They're such good company.  They give you unquestioning love.  You're never lonely if you have a dog." and so on.  It's all true.  What they don't say is "He'll want to sleep in bed with you and he gets too hot.  He wants to play when all you want to do is have an afternoon nap.  He'll put hairs on all your clothes."

However, we would heartily recommend having a dog, especially if you have found yourself alone in the world.  They're not called 'man's best friend' for nothing.

Archie is pretty self-contained.  We had a doggie flap (I want to call it a cat flap but Archie would be offended) put in the screen door at the back so he can come and go to the grass as he pleases.  That, of course, means leaving the proper back door open and, now that winter is here, that's not a great option.  We've resorted to shoving him outside at regular intervals so he doesn't make a mess in the house.

Happily, there have been no problems.  In the last couple of days, we've noticed he has taken to standing in front of one us, staring.  Marilyn worked it out first, "He wants to go to the yard!" and so he did.

So, while we've been endeavouring to train him, he's been training us!  He can tell us when he wants to eat, when he wants to have a nap and when he wants to do his business. Who's in charge here?

Sunday, July 17

I'm still wading through the collection of Bill Bryson books I've found.  After the one about Australia, I opened 'The Lost Continent' which is about the states of the US which were first settled by Europeans; I didn't find it particularly interesting but I'm not American and have no investment in knowing their history.

'Shakespeare' sounded like a better proposition.  He wrote this on the request of his publisher who was bringing out a series of "Eminent People".  Bryson found that most of the subjects who interested him were already taken so fell back on Shakespeare.  It was interesting enough but you can have too much of a good thing and I soon moved on to One Summer, 1927 which was a snapshot of America at that time.

It's been worthwhile reading: it focuses on the aftermath of WW1, the growth of industry and particularly aviation and Charles Lindbergh.  I'm in a section now which deals with Herbert Hoover.  I find I'm learning more about these households names than I feel I need.  I might skip over this section and see if there are any more revelations about American life which I haven't heard before.  It's all a bit too self-congratulatory for me. 

Saturday, July 16

Jamie and Nera are going with some other members of the family to a resort on Sombrero Island.  This is a tiny island, one of the 7641 which make up the nation.  It must have been a terrible job counting them and I can imagine the consternation in the Office for Counting Islands when someone discovered another one and all the records have to be updated.

The island is called Sombrero because it has a hill on it and look like a sombrero when you approach it from the sea.    Jamie sent me a link to a video and it was quite interesting: nothing like the resorts you might see on Hamilton Island or Oahu, much more low key and affordable for tourists who are not millionaires.  Most of the tourists seem to arrive there on their own boat, which is typically a long wooden canoe shape with an outrigger.  

I was interested to look at the video and discover that filipinos, like everyone else in the western world, love their action cameras and are never happier than when making short films about their mundane lives and posting them on Youtube for other sad nerds to watch.

Friday, July 15

I have a couple of parcels on their way from eBay and wondered when they would arrive.  The only thing as good as receiving a parcel is the anticipation of knowing they're on their way.  It's easy to see where they are; there's a tracking facility on the app and I've used it from time to time.

This time I'm told the parcel was picked up by Aramex (formerly Fastway  Couriers) on July 8 at 10.44am. On July 10, it was being processed at a 'sortation facility' in Sydney. and is on its way to Tasmania.  My concern is that it has been through a 'sortation facility'.  I've never heard of such a thing.  Parcels used to be 'sorted' at the Post Office and I'm sure the room where it was done was a 'Sorting Room'.  Why has someone invented a new name for something that already had a name which described it perfectly.

I blame the Americans.  They're notorious for inventing new, more complicated words for things that already a name.  In proper English, we have anaesthetist, but the Americans prefer anaesthesiologist.  Who knows why.  New words like this are called neologisms and I was prepared to blame the Americans for this word as well until I discovered it was originally a French word, 'neologisme'.  Bloody French!

The other question is 'Why did Fastway Couriers change its name to Aramex?'  Well, Aramex is an American company which has just bought Fastway and doesn't think the old name good enough.  The official explanation is:

“The rebrand represents a powerful opportunity for our local franchise operators, and for the many Australian businesses looking to capitalise on global trends in online retail.”

Moderns companies have whole departments dedicated to writing this rubbish.

Thursday, July 14

One of the first words our pets have to learn in the Christie household is the word 'imshi!'  It's an Egyptian word meaning 'get out' or 'scram!'  We've always used it and I can remember Dad telling whatever cat we had in the house to 'imshi' out of his chair.  When Nera first came to Australia, she was surprised to hear us use the word which she had heard, of course, in Saudi Arabia, where she worked.

We had always thought that Dad had brought the word with him from Scotland but, as it's now so much part of our usual vocabulary, we didn't give it much thought.   It's part of Archie's known vocabulary now too.

In an idle moment this week, I looked it up to see whether I could find out how it had made its way into Scottish usage.  Was  it through POWs or refugees or recent immigrants?  I was surprised to find there's no Scottish connection.  It's an Australian adoption, in fact, brought back by Australian soldiers who learnt it when training and being stationed in Egypt.  So Dad might have picked it up at the Port Kembla Steelworks.   Who would have thought?

I found a reference to its use during a protest agains President Mubarak in 2011.

irhal ya'ni imshi (irhal means imshi)
ya illi mabtafhimshi (in case you don't understand me)

Wednesday, July 13

I haven't been able to put down this book by Bill Bryson.  They say it takes an outsider to get underneath the skin of a country and see what really makes it tick, and I think that's a fair comment in this situation.  He's had a number of visits to Australia and the visit which sparked this book took him to odd and remote corners of the country.

As someone who didn't suffer from being brought up here, he can look at our myths with a different eye.  We all know that Charles Kingsford-Smith was a pioneer in aviation but Bryson makes a case for regarding Kingsford-Smith as the greatest aviator of all time, far surpassing even Lindbergh whom Americans adore, even though he was an avowed Nazi.

Bryson tells the story of John McDouall Stuart, a famous explorer who is credited with making the first overland trek by a European through the centre of Australia from south to north.  However, when his expedition was somewhere in the region of Alice Springs, they came across a band of Aboriginals.  Making contact, Stuart was amazed that one of the older native men made an obvious 'Masonic gesture' in greeting.  I don't what that could be; I only know of the secret Masonic handshake.  Stuart must have reacted because the man repeated the gesture.  Stuart returned it and the man broke into a wide grin.

Had the Master of some lodge been there before, signing up members?

Tuesday, July 12

I've been reading 'In a Sunburned Country' by Bill Bryson, an American journalist, who writes fantastic books about his travels and other things which interest him. In a Sunburned Country is about a visit to Australia.  It is irreverent, informative and interesting.  What comes through is that Bryson loves this place.

Here is one little anecdote which is a good example of his style:

In the 1950s a friend ... moved with her young family into a house next door to a vacant lot.  One day a construction crew turned up to build a house on the lot.  The friend had a four-year-old daughter who naturally took an interest in all the activity going on next door. She hung around on the margins and eventually the construction workers adopted her as a kind of mascot.  They chatted to her and gave her little jobs to do and at the end of the week presented her with a little pay packet containing a shiny new half crown.

She took this home to her mother, who made all the appropriate cooings of admiration and suggested that they take it to the bank the next morning to deposit it in her account.  When they went to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the little girl how she had come by her own pay packet.

"I've been building a house this week," she replied proudly.

"Goodness!" said the teller. "And will you be building a house next week, too?"

"I will if we ever get the fucking bricks," answered the little girl.

Monday, July 11

 If I'm lucky and get the gym to myself in the morning, my only contact with a living creature is with a White-facd Heron which hangs about on the football oval outside the window.  I can't say he is a delight to watch because he doesn't do anything.  He might be perched on the top of a container which sits near the grandstand, or be standing motionless close to the middle of the ground but he doesn't seem to be feeding or even looking for something to eat.

And why is he here?  Surely his natural habitat is a creek or river and we have both of those within a short flight.  I gather he lives on frogs and small fish and there wouldn't be many of those around Longford Park.  If he's looking for a mate, he could probably find a better place.  Or has he come here to die?

It's a mystery.

He wasn't there this morning and I'm starting to worry that something has happened to him.  I won't rest easy until I now that he is back.

Sunday, July 10

When I wake up on Sunday morning, there's one job which always awaits me: this is the day when I sort out my medications for the week.  I can't believe that I use the word medication but it probably indicates my changing attitude to life.  Marilyn's mother used to talk about her 'medications' and I always thought that the word gave the pills too much importance. They were only pills, after all.  Of course, I didn't take any regular pills then, so medication had no place in my life.

Now, sixty years later, an hour of every Sunday morning is devoted to filling my little pill dispenser with the tiny objects which keep my life on an even keel.  I can tell you what they're all for: the big white one and the little round yellow one and the slightly bigger orange one, the round ones, the oval ones, the tiny ones with a groove, and so on.

Each Sunday I check that I have enough supply for the next week and, if I'm running short, I have to order more.  No longer do I take my hand-written script into the chemist; nowadays, I order them through a dedicated app.  I've never seen a paper script for any of my 'medications; I ring my doctor to tell him when my script has expired, he sends a message to my pharmacy and the app tell me that I am good to go for another month.

Regularly, the chemist asks me if I want to take advantage of their service where somebody in a back room somewhere will fill my little boxes for me, and it won't cost me anything.  I'm not tempted yet; it seems like part of a slippery slope into old age, but I suppose the time will come when I'll be left out of the process entirely: doctor, pharmacy, medication filler will all have a functioning role and I will only be the 'end user'. 'It's time to take your medication.  Open wide!'

Saturday, July 9

It seems inevitable now but Boris Johnson has resigned as British PM.  You couldn't open a newspaper in the past few months without another story about a scandal or a mishap or a lack of judgement.  I liked the article this morning which mentioned a 'serial protester' outside Number 10 Downing Street was playing the theme music from the Benny Hill Show.  It's called Yakkety Sax and I can remember the end-credits of the show when a speeded-up Benny would charge through some trees to the strains of the manic music.  Very fitting for the demise of Boris, I would have thought.

It was sad news about the assassination of Shinzo Abe in Japan.  When I heard the news, I thought the reporter had said he had been shot by a man from Nowra.  What?  Only later I realised that the man was, in fact from Nara, a city not far from Kyoto.   I suppose it's an easy mistake to make; people from Nowra have to be watched when Japanese citizens are around.

Thursday, July 7

I had an early start this morning, hoping to have the gym to myself so I was there by 8.15.  There were three cars in the carpark but one left as I was arriving.  The lights were on but the two people who were working out were ready to leave, giving me the whole space to myself.  Bliss!  I turned off the awful music and set about my warm-up stint on the bike ... and I heard the door behind me opening and one of the trainers come in, full of cheer and bubble.  She marched over to the TV, switched it on and started to sing along with it.

I suppose I could learn to live with the music but it's the accompanying images which get to me: toned bodies, both male and female, make me feel inadequate.  There's one program which concentrates on female bodies and it lingers just a little bit too long on the curved posteriors and oiled shoulders. Soft porn, I think they call it.

I'm becoming a bit of a prude in my old age.

Wednesday, July 6

It's another very cold day here in Tasmania.  Jamie rang to say he and Nera arrived safely in Manila and it's 28 degrees there.  We were able to follow their flight on Flight Radar 24; it's quite an extraordinary program and you can follow the progress of the plane as it taxis along the runway and into the air, with instant updates on altitude, speed and so on.  

I was a little late getting to the gym this morning and found myself sharing the space with too many people.  There's a group of three or four men who work on weights and a group of women, maybe their wives, who like the walking machines and such-like.  The men don't bother me and I'm not into lifting heavy objects but the women seem to prefer the same machines as I use.  I couldn't get near the rowing machines this morning and I like to finish off my routine on one of those.  I'll just have to get up a bit earlier in future, to beat the crowd.

Tuesday, July 5

Another cold morning here but, at least, we're not suffering the torrential rain that's hitting so much of NSW.  It's much easier to keep warm than to keep dry.  Marilyn and I had to go out yesterday and, even though the air is cold it's almost a pleasure to dress in good cold-weather gear: over the years we've invested in light weight down jackets and good boots so the icy blast doesn't bother us.

I have the news on in the background; it's mostly doom and gloom with the bad weather, the war in Ukraine and Covid but, at least, the news editor is trying to find some better news stories like Nick Kyrgios doing well at the tennis and some fellow in the US who has just won another hot dog eating contest.  It's good to see that some people are holding on to what's important.

Jamie and Nera are at Melbourne Airport waiting for their flight to Manila.  It was supposed to have left by now but it's been delayed by a couple of hours.  Marilyn and I drove them to the local airport yesterday afternoon to catch their plane to Melbourne and Nera was still on the phone all the way. They've found someone to cover for her while she's away but he was clearly wanting to check everything with her before she left.  I hope she can have a genuine break because it's been a torrid time for her.

Monday, July 4

What shocking weather we are having: floods and high winds everywhere.  I saw the pictures on the news of the damage to somebody's trampoline in Corrimal and the reporter suggested it may have been caused by a water spout blowing in from the ocean.  Was he serious?

I suppose it's a change from blaming everything that goes wrong on Covid or the war in Ukraine.  

There's more extraordinary news coming in from the investigation into the January 6 attack in the US.  Why is everyone acting so surprised at the revelations that Mr Trump saw himself as a dictator?  Everything he has done in his life pointed to his failings as a human being and everyone in the world could see that he would be a disaster as a President.  And now the US Supreme Court has shown its true colours as being controlled by fascists.  How do these people get into such positions of authority?  

It makes you think of the famous quote: Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.

Sunday, July 3

I'm not a great follower of sport but I was pleased to see that Australia has beaten England in a Rugby match over the weekend.  There was a time that I would have shown a bit more interest and I could even reel off the names of some of the more famous players: Ken Catchpole, John Eales, David Campsese and so on.  Somewhere, I still have my Rugby referee's badge which I studied so hard to attain in about 1970.

In the winning team this weekend there was only one name I recognised: Quaide Cooper who didn't, in fact, play but all the others were strangers to me. I suppose  it's because we don't watch sport on TV and there is not much rugby played in Tasmania, anyway.  Jamie played Rugby when he was at school and was even picked in the Tasmanian Schoolboys team to play in the national championships in Adelaide, I think, but I haven't made any effort to follow the sport since.

Looking through the list of the players on the Australian team, I found Jordan Petaia, Folau Fainga'a and Pete Same and my immediate thought was that we were poaching our better players from New Zealand or elsewhere.  But, not so!  All these players I have mentioned were born in Australia and have learnt all their rugby skills here.  Good thing, too!  It reminds us how much we have benefitted from a migration system which encouraged people from all over the world to come here. 

It makes you think, though.  How many potentially great sportsmen and women, or doctors or scientists might be among the 1459 refugees who have been in closed detention for an average of 697 days each? What benefits are we missing out on by ignoring this pool of human potential and the children they will produce?  It's one thing to beat England but, if we want to beat the All Blacks, we'll need all the help we can get.

Saturday, July 2

My plan for this morning was to have a leisurely breakfast and spend a bit of time putting together may thoughts for this blog, but Marilyn had other ideas.  Before I'd finished my first coffee, she was up and ready to put together our on-line order for Coles.  Somehow, we didn't get around to it yesterday.  This is a major undertaking: she started making notes earlier in the week in the little notebook she carries with her.  As thoughts occurred to her about things we lacked in the pantry, she would note it down so that, when we came to the point of addressing the website, we would not be distracted by wondering about things we didn't need.

I always have to operate the computer.  Marilyn is very competent with technology but becomes frustrated when things go wrong and hates disturbing me to sort things out. Better to make me part of the process and I can deal with anything that's a bit out of the ordinary.

The first problem arose before we started: Coles online seemed to be offline.  No worry, we'll use Woolworths, she said.  Aren't we lucky to have a choice between Tweedledum or Tweedledee?

Twenty minutes later it is done and we have only ordered four or five extra items from those on her list.  The order will be here tomorrow between 10.00 and 4.00 but we weren't planning to go out anyway.