Monday, August 28

Now that we are back to being Darby and Joan ( I wonder who were the original Darby and Joan and how they became the archetypal couple who lived on their own), it's time to get our house in order for the advent of Spring.  First job is to remove the plastic covers from the outside shelves which hold up our potted plants.  The covers have protected the plants from the worst of the winter.  I have to lift them off the frames, zip up the door section and fold them up for storage until the frosts come back.  At the moment, they're spread out in the sun to dry.

I might drag everything out of our tiny shed and sweep it out.  There might be some items I can discard; there's no use hanging on to junk we might never use again and we can always use the space for something else.  

Marilyn had put off our cleaning lady while Anne was here so she has now been reinstated.  

We have a grand plan to reorganise our main room.  One end is taken up by a dining table and chairs which we never use.  I would like to get rid of them.  At the moment, my desk is situated at the other end of the room directly under the air conditioner.  This poses problems when the fun is running and I have to weigh down all the paperwork I have scattered around.  If I can get the desk to the other end of the room, I will be a happy man, which means moving the table,

I'm not sure if we can live without a dining area but a small round table might be an option, although I'm not keen on spending more money.  We have a kitchen bench with stools which, at the moment, suffices for all our meals so that might be adequate.  Decisions! Decisions! 

Sunday, August 27

It's a beautiful day in Longford and we're up early.  Anne goes home today after 5 weeks of holiday.  It's always nice to have visitors but it will also be good to get back to our relaxed lifestyle.  

There's some employment agency out there who seems intent on attacking my relaxed lifestyle. A couple of times a week, I get notifications on Facebook about jobs which might interest me: government jobs paying over $100000 a year, a job as a truckie's offsider or a job stacking shelves in a supermarket.  I don't know how to tell them to get lost.  Maybe I should apply for one of the jobs and they will see how unsuitable I would be, and they would leave me alone.

Saturday, August 26

I went to gym as usual this morning.  I've had to cut out all the exercises which involve any pressure on my upper body so I'm reduced to the bike and what I call the 'leg stretcher'.  There was one other person in occupation, a bloke doing weights in the area set aside for that.  There was music playing; appalling, cacophonous, ear-splitting, atonal, and the bike I use is right underneath the speaker.  What do I do?  I can't turn it off, I can't even turn it down in case the  Neanderthal heaving round huge lumps of steel takes offence.  So, I just put up with it.  I'm only there for about twenty minutes so I probably didn't damage my eardrums too much.

When I left, I noticed the weight-lifter's truck in the carpark, with a sign GENETIC STONE MASONRY.  What on earth can that mean?

I went straight to Google, of course and found  that it's a company in Northern Tasmania which carries out masonry work.  The site underlined it had nothing to do with Genetics or Genealogy or anything else associated with genes.  The Neanderthal probably mixed up the words and wanted General, or Genuine, or Generic.  Who knows?

Friday, August 25

I went to the gym as usual on Tuesday but when I got home I had an unpleasant twinge in my chest.  I decided to have a break for a couple of days but it didn't improve so, on Thursday, I rang and managed to get an appointment with the doctor.  The pain was in the chest, after all, and I didn't want to be 'that bloke who should have seen his doctor.'

She gave me an ECG, pronounced me as fit as a fiddle and suggested I had probably tweaked something when I was exercising. She advised me to adjust my gym routine to avoid upper body stuff for a while and focus on leg work.  I'm glad she didn't tell me to give it up entirely; although I complain about it, I would miss it if if weren't there.

It's a beautiful day here.  I'm off to my writing class with a story about a fellow who observed his own funeral.  

Thursday, August 24

 I went to another meeting of the embryo Longford Writers' Group on Tuesday.  This time it was arranged we meet at a local coffee shop called Ernest Ernestos. This coffee shop has a reputation in the town of having the best coffee and is the preferred meeting place for the gentry and the literati.  We hadn't ever been there, not fitting into either of those groups.

It was a pokey little place.  There was a mid-size wooden table in one corner, a tatty leather lounge, four of five upright wooden kitchen chairs and several stools made from cast iron tractor seats.  The de facto leader of the group had commandeered the table.  I tried the lounge but I sank into its depths and struggled to get out again so I retreated to a kitchen chair.

I was the only bloke.  That's alright but I prefer a bit of a balance.  Maybe next time.  After a couple of very uncomfortable hours, we left, promising to meet again.

Monday, August 22

We've been watching The Voice for the past couple of weeks.  I have to steel myself not to comment on the obvious hype and histrionics but it is interesting to see the enthusiastic young performers desperate for a toehold into the industry.  Of course, there are some old-timers who can't let go and keep trying to get someone to notice them.  Last night, a couple of real old-timers called The Bushwackers strutted their stuff. I remember them from forty years ago when I was teaching in Hobart and they're still around, singing the same old songs.

One of them claimed that he had helped write I Am Australian which I always thought was a Seeker's song so I checked Google and he was right;  he and Bruce Woodley wrote the lyrics.  Have I said it before?  It oughta be our national anthem!

One very solemn young woman came on playing some esoteric Himalayan instruments and mouthing calm words ... all very zen. The audience must have found themselves almost falling to sleep.  And the producers cut to an announcement ... Monday night's Lotto Numbers!   We can't be allowed to forget what's really important.

Sunday, August 20

The world must have shuddered just a little bit on its axis during the last week or so, because Marilyn and I have watched 2 soccer matches right through.  Clearly a momentous event in itself.  It would be too much to say that we enjoyed them but we felt we needed to lend our support to the girls.  I note also that one of the matches was identified as the most watched bit of television in Australia, ever (or something like that).  There was a time when a coronation would have grabbed that accolade but, happily, times have changed.

I wonder how much the growing popularity of women's sport will affect the push in Tasmania for a multi-million dollar stadium which will be used for only a handful of matches a year.  Might the decision-makers pause for a moment of contemplation and realise that there are many other (maybe wiser) ways to spend the dough?  And that there are other sports, not just AFL.  One can only hope.

Saturday, August 19

We're a well-regulated household; Marilyn has her jobs and I have mine.  Over the years, these have evolved and now we're comfortable with our individual responsibilities.  Some of my specific jobs include making the bed, hanging-out and bringing in the washing, anything to do with bins, the letterbox, cutting grass, watering, anything to do with knives (carving, chopping, etc), moving furniture, and so on.  Since Anne has come to visit, it appears I have another job.  Every morning, I am expected to provide a compote of freshly-cut fruit for breakfast.  

I like to go to the gym in the morning and, now, when I return, home my wife and her sister are sitting in the lounge room in their dressing gowns waiting for me to arrive so that I can start the preparation of the fruit compote.  Half of an apple, half an orange, half a banana, kiwi fruit, some chopped American grapes and several chopped strawberries.  

I suggested I might prepare it with a whole apple and orange, for example and leave the remainder in the fridge until the next day, but I was informed that the most important thing about a fresh fruit compote is that it is fresh ... not made yesterday and left in the fridge to go brown. 

That's the trouble with having visitors; you have to try just a little bit harder when they're here.

Thursday, August 17

I note that Fathers' Day is coming up again.  Once upon a time I might have been enthusiastic but I'm past all that.  It's almost too much trouble to go out for lunch and who needs more presents.  Facebook, of course, is littered with Fathers Day gift suggestions.  I ignore them but one caught my eye: 'Your father is sure to be delighted with one of these newly-published books?'  Okay, books are good.

I think there were ten in all.  Two were about fishing, one was a suggested travel guide for a trip around Australia, another was about gardening, and another about the best tools for a handyman's shed.  Or, I could have any number of suggestions for 'Dad's Special Pizza', unless I wanted to take up Mexican Cooking.  One author, helpfully offered to help me through the restoration of an old caravan, and another wanted to feed my obsession with model railways.

Ho hum!  Nothing to see here.

Wednesday, August 16

What a lethargic day we are having.  I went to the gym as usual but, apart from my normal chores, there's nothing happening.  I managed to write my story for the Friday Writing Group and am now twiddling my thumbs trying to fill in time.

I've been reading a book called 1491 which purports to tell about what was happening in The Americas before Christopher Columbus sailed in and spoiled it all.  South America, particularly, was a great centre of civilisation but the Spanish Conquistadores soon put paid to that.  It was pandemics which took the most toll, though, rather than Spanish swords.  The natives had no resistance to diseases like Scarlet Fever and whole communities were wiped out.

I don't know why I bother reading this stuff; it just makes me depressed.  I had a Facebook message from a friend that he and his wife are flying off to Budapest to do a cruise along the Danube to Amsterdam.  Now, that's a lot more interesting! Would I like to be there with him?  Probably not.

Tuesday, August 15

Reading through the local paper one day, we noted that Longford has a 'Community Kitchen'.  There wasn't much detail but we gleaned that it was a community initiative and aimed at providing food for locals down on their luck.  A bit more searching turned up that there is a cupboard, in a nook attached to the local Estate Agents.  People wanting to help can put food in there, the local bakery provides bread every day, and anyone needing assistance can help themselves.

Marilyn is enthusiastic about it and was delighted, today, to meet the woman who instigated the initiative. Things like cup-a-soup, eggs, and baked beans are good.  Nobody has mentioned 'home-grown produce' yet and I just hope it doesn't extend to this.

Monday, August 14

 I went to the gym, as usual, on Saturday morning.  I like to get there before the crowd but we have a key fob that lets us open the door at any time so we're not limited to office hours.  Unfortunately, the lock beeped but the door didn't open.  I tried again, but with no success.  It took a while but I finally worked out what was wrong.

Jamie is also a member of the gym and he happened to mention that he was going to interrupt his membership for a few weeks because he was particularly busy with other matters.  The system seems to be that his fob would be disabled for the deferred period.  Unfortunately, some minion in the office confused our names and disabled my fob rather than Jamie's.

All sorted this morning when the office person arrived.

I'm waiting, as they say, with bated breath for a parcel to arrive from California.  Australian Post alerted me that it should arrive today.  I received a post on Facebook saying that Amazon was having its annual Mystery Box promotion.  Each box is full of random pieces of technology which might include a new iPhone or iPad.  On the other hand it might just be a random collection of leads and so on.  In a rash moment, I signed up and now I can't wait to see what I get.  

Sunday, August 13

 It's interesting having Anne staying with us.  We don't usually have to think too much about our normal routine but, with another person in the house we have to make allowances.  We're constantly asking, 'What would you like to do today?' when she's probably just as happy to sit and chat.  I'd sorted out lots of movies and TV shows for us to watch but, apparently, that's not her thing and she's just as happy to chat.

Yesterday, we drove out to a Berry Farm near Dilston where we used to live.  There's nothing to pick at the moment but we enjoyed morning tea and drove home.  The highlight of the day was watching the Matildas v France soccer match.  Somehow, we didn't get the message that there was to be a goal shootout so we switched over before that bit of excitement. Shame!

Thursday, August 10

 I went to the meeting of the local Mens Probus Club yesterday.  I've officially joined so I now need to make the effort to attend regularly and learn the names of the other members.  The Chairman is a local politician I've known since my Giant Steps days and my one-time doctor has just become a member so there are at least two I can relate to.  It all takes time.

One of the members was invited to talk about his recent trip to Japan.  I was really interested because we've had several trips there and regard it as one of our favourite places.  The fellow had taken his wife, son and daughter-in-law and a couple of grand-kids and was complaining how much it had cost him. I was disappointed that he didn't seem to get out of Tokyo apart from a day at Disneyland yet he had a lot to say about how he didn't really like it.

He really had two major complaints: he saw no building going on in the city (!) and he saw very few animals, like cats and dogs.  I wonder whether he was suggesting that they'd all been eaten.  Anyway, he had some very pretty pictures and they brought back good memories.

Monday, August 7

 We took Anne for lunch yesterday to Carrick Hotel. We had been there recently with Probus and were quite impressed so thought it was worth another try. We were asked to be there and ready to order by 12 o'clock so we assumed they were expecting a crowd and we were right.  The main part of the dining room was set for a large party and my heart sank when I noticed four high chairs.  We  had a nice table and ordered on time as instructed, the large party started trailing in from about 12.15.  They were mostly young couples with kids and they all had these huge modern prams which take up so much room.  There were the obligatory grannies and grand-dads, dragged out for the day so it was quite an event.

We had plenty of time so I wandered around to look at the paintings and so on hanging on the walls and was intrigued by an old photograph.  It showed a very old man in workman's clothes, carrying a rake and, beside it was a timeline of his life.  He was born in England and arrived in Northern van Dieman's Land in 1789 on his uncle's ship.  It said that he spent the next 23 years living and hunting with the local aboriginals.

In 1812, he met up with a local farmer and worked with them as a gardener until 1839, when he moved into a small hut on the property.  His only companion was his cat, Joey.  In 1890, he moved to the Launceston Invalid Depot where he died in 1891.

This so-called historical record claimed that he was 117 years 6 months  21 days old when he died.  remarkable!

Of course, I checked Google who tried to tell me that Australia's oldest recorded person was a Queenslander, Dexter Kruger, who was a mere 111 years, 188 days when he went.  Maybe I should tell them to bring their records up to date.

Sunday, August 6

I'd probably been told, but I'd forgotten that the reason Jamie and Nera were in Hobart this weekend was so that they could go to a football match.  Jamie has been a Melbourne supporter since he was at school and Nera has adopted them too, with a passion.  We only have a few matches each year in Tasmania and this time it featured the Demons.

For years, Tasmania has been lobbying for the right to have a Tasmanian team in the national competition. AFL is the number one sport in this state but the AFL bosses say our population is too small to support a team.  This year, they have relented and have said a team is possible but we'll have to build a huge state-of-the-art stadium on a waterfront site near the bridge.  If this happens, there could be as many as five matches a year held there.

It's a no-brainer for the die-hard fans but in a state with a housing shortage and the lowest per capita income in the nation, how could you even contemplate it?  Battle lines are drawn and those of us who have no skin in the game can just stand back and watch the fur fly.

Saturday, August 5

The last few days have been overcast and drizzly so, because the sun's shining today, we'll take the chance to get out to show Anne some of the sights. There are a couple of stately homes close by, built in colonial times by the Archer family and one of them, Woolmers, has the National Rose Garden which might be worth a visit.  Not being a gardener, I don't know whether roses have an off-season but we'll take our chances.

Jamie and Nera are heading for Hobart this afternoon, leaving Archie with us but, if we're not here, they can just leave him.  He's used to being here so he won't fret.

Friday, August 4

When you have guests, it's good manners to ask what they like to watch on TV.  Apparently, Anne is in the habit of watching The Chase every afternoon so, at 3 minutes to 5 each day, we turn it on.  Being a good host, I thought I would check Youtube to see if there were any back- episodes I could download and found a few.  We checked one out yesterday.  It was awful!

Instead of copying it through a cable, the fellow who had downloaded it did it by setting up a video camera facing the screen of the TV, so the picture was very dodgy.

Worse, the sound was recorded through the tiny microphone in the video recorder, so it, too, was awful.

But the worst thing was that the microphone also picked up the voices of the people sitting in their loungeroom watching the show.  One of the voices was, clearly, a know-all pommy who  called out the answers to the questions.  I was horrified because that's what I do and, until I heard how it sounded, I had no idea. I'll have to be more careful in future. 

Thursday, August 3

 Anne decided this morning that she needed to get her nails done here in Longford.  Of course, we're not  at the end of the world and it's certainly possible!  So, we're sitting in the foyer of the local shopping centre, drinking Banjo's coffee, waiting for the clock to tick around to her appointment time at 'A New You'.  It's interesting to watch the passing parade of customers wandering by to the various shops.  There's a fair sprinkling of farmers' wives making a quick trip for supplies, but we're mostly grey-haired retirees desperately clinging on to relevance.

One fellow has just walked by with pronounced bandy legs.  He's probably spent his life on a horse.  Mum would have called him 'a wee bachle'.  (I've have to look up the correct spelling). I looked it up and it's spelled 'bauchle' and it means a 'fat, untidy housewife'.  Not the word I should have chosen but I won't bother re-writing it now; I'll just have to be more careful in my use of Scottish dialect in future.

There's a lot to be said for spending time in a shopping centre.  Tasmania lacks the magnificence of places like Macarthur Square or The Mall of Asia in Manila but even a tiny centre like this one in Longford lets you experience a slice of the variety of life.

Wednesday, August 2

It's not often that people have a song written about them. Of course, I haven't had that honour but, this morning, I heard a song that has my name in it.  I have a collection of songs that I listen to in the car.  Recently, I've been listening to a selection by Judy Collins, all hits from the 1960s and '70.  I don't usually listen very carefully but this morning I heard, as clear as a bell, the line 'John Christie was the murderer.'

Of course, I went straight to Google to check it out.  The song is called Tim Evans and tells the story of a young man who was found guilty of murdering his wife, Beryl and infant daughter, Geraldine, and was hanged in 1950.  Later, it was found that the real murderer was his landlord, John Christie.

It's not much fun sharing a name with a notorious murderer.  Years ago, I was stopped by a policeman in Hobart who asked for my licence.  When he looked at it, he said, 'I've just been reading about you.'  He gave me my licence back and told me to have a nice day.