Today is the sort of day you feel that it's good to be alive. There's a great Australian saying: 'You wouldn't be dead for quids' which I think sums it up. And why would we not celebrate? We're in good health, live in one of the safest countries on Earth with a political system which looks after us, we never go hungry and we're still together after 58 years.
Sadly, not everyone can say the same. It came home to me when we took part in the census a couple of years ago. Part of my area was the rural town of Bishopsbourne. Essentially, it's just one main street and a few lanes running off it. Most of the houses were attractive and well looked after but there were some areas which appalled me. I met one young woman sitting on the front step of her shack of a dwelling. The house was surrounded by a wilderness of long grass and blackberry bushes. In the front yard was a burned-out car. However, she seemed cheerful enough.
At the beginning of one lane was a cluster of letterboxes. As I drove up to them, there was a man putting things in them. He was the typical Australian gentleman farmer: moleskins, checked shirt, polished boots and Akubra. He told me there were four dwellings up the lane, each with a single male occupant. They were his farmhands. I drove up to the little settlement and my heart sank. There were a couple of demountable buildings and two caravans. The main feature of the area was a huge pile of discardeed cardboard beer cartons. It was one of the most derelict and unloved places I had ever seen,
You could picture their existence: work on the farm all day, call into the pub for supplies on the way home and spend the evening drinking in front of the TV. There was no sign of any female presence and the farmer never mentioned it.
We don't know when we're well off.
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