Friday, February 21, 2025

Saturday, February 22

I have quite a comfortable routine in the morning.  Marilyn stays in bed for an extra half hour, leaving me to watch a couple of Youtube videos with my first coffee of the day.  I have some favourites: Steve, Scott, Ken, and so on, but this morning I was attracted to a snippet about Donald Trump.  How can the USian people tolerate this person?  Nothing he says makes any sense.  The clip I watched showed a public meeting where the audience attacked the moderator who dared to ask questions about Trump's competency.  

There seems to be a whole new understanding of right and wrong.  I don't know who coined the term 'post-truth' but we are certainly living in a world of 'alternative facts', where we can all make up our own mind about what 'true' means.  

Stop the world, I want to get off.  At least I know that Anthony Newley had something to do with that phrase, and that's the truth.

Yesterday, Marilyn had to go in for her check-up following her eye operation.  I dropped her off, found a shaded spot in the carpark and opened my book.  After a while I found myself getting peckish but there were no shops nearby and I had brought nothing to eat with me.  I scrabbled around in the glovebox and the little console between the front seats .. and found a little packet of jellybeans.  They looked a little the worse for wear so I checked the Use By date.  2018.  That's alright: jellybeans are full of sugar and that doesn't go off, so they should be OK.  I chose a red one ... not my favourite colour but it looked to be the most appetising. 

But it was horrible .. hard and with a strange flavour.  I decided to spit out the last little bit and spread the rest of the packet on the grass near the carpark.  I hope they don't affect the local rabbits who are scrounging for a feed.

Thursday, February 20, 2025

Friday, February 21

 I think we can call the construction of the gazebo a success.  Jamie put the final touches to it this morning by fitting some rubber grommets into a couple of holes and it is now there for us to enjoy.  We had talked about some refinements but have decided not to spoil what is clearly a good thing.   Bertine from Number 5 popped in to check it out and we sat around the table with a glass of wine contemplating the future.

Nothing much is happening today.  Sandra, the cleaning lady is expected; I plan to have two walks to add a couple of thousand steps to my daily tally, and I need to tidy up some TV programs I have downloaded.  Marilyn has an appointment at the Eye Hospital this afternoon and that will give us an excuse for a coffee in town.

I think I might have posted The Missing Postman before but I haven't ticked it off.  No matter: it's one of my favourites so deserves another airing.


THE MISSING POSTMAN                                                AUGUST 27, 2021

 

If anyone asked what he did, Wayne would tell them he was the Missing Postman.  Sometimes, people would ask him what he meant because, in their simple understanding, he was there in front of them so, clearly, not missing at all.  Wayne would just smile and change the subject.

It wasn’t surprising that people came to think that Wayne was a little odd, if not seriously disturbed.

In fact, Wayne was employed by the Post Office to make enquiries when postal items went astray.  He was the man who looked after the Post that was Missing.  He was the Missing Post Man.

If you knew Wayne, you would wonder how he kept his job.  He was certainly no intellectual giant and he had an irritating habit of constantly singing old Everley Brothers songs in a low monotone voice.  More than one fellow-employee had asked for a transfer after one too many choruses of Bye Bye Love.

But, Wayne was always neatly dressed; his mother ironed a fresh shirt for him every morning, and he was generous in helping out when anyone needed an hour or two off for personal business.  Most importantly, no one else was prepared to take on the job of Missing Post Man.  It was a thankless task with little hope of promotion.  The incumbent had only a tiny cubby-hole to work from.  Some wag once dubbed this the Dead Letter Office and the name stuck. 

The general feeling among the staff was that the job of Missing Postman was the end of the line, the job you were given when Head Office thought you should be put out to pasture.  And, of course, no one can be sacked from the Public Service; it is a well-known fact that every Public Service Department has a designated number of positions which are so mind-numbingly boring that their sole purpose is to make life so miserable for the incumbent that a resignation will inevitably follow.

Somehow, Wayne thrived in his hovel of an office.  He always had a tiny vase of fresh flowers and his desk was the tidiest in the whole department.  He brought polish from home and every Monday morning, all the furniture was treated to a spruce-up.  Wayne was held up to the other staff as a model employee, whose example others should follow. 

Perhaps, his supervisors should have looked at how successful he was in discovering the whereabouts of missing postal items before holding him up as a shining example of what a good employee should look like.  In short, his success rate was appalling.  Apart from the odd letter from the bank or electricity bill, he found almost nothing that had gone astray. 

Wayne was not very bright, but he was certainly sharp enough to know when a good scheme should come to an end.  One Monday morning, Wayne didn’t show up to work.  No one was worried; he wasn’t a vital cog in the wheel and everyone assumed his mother would ring at some stage to say that he had a cold.  Another day passed, and another and someone thought, perhaps, a ‘phone call to his mother might be a good idea.

His mother was surprised to receive the call. Didn’t they realise that Wayne had been sent off to Canberra for special training before he took on his new job as Controller of Misplaced Parcels?  This announcement caused much consternation in the office.  Surely, it couldn’t be true.  Even the public service wouldn’t be stupid enough to promote Wayne to any position of authority.

The wheels of the Public Service grind slowly but, eventually, an investigation was launched to inquire into the matter. A panel of eminent retired senior officers from the department was charged with finding out what had happened to Wayne and were there any extenuating circumstances which should be taken into account.  The matter was certainly helped by the arrival of a postcard from Wayne, now resident in a South American country which, as it happens, has no extradition treaty with Australia.

A picture was emerging that Wayne had been up to no good, and diligent digging unearthed the truth that, for years, Wayne had been stealing parcels and other mail and, as the Missing Postman, he had been able to cover up the theft quite easily. He focused on birthday and Christmas cards which might have a banknote tucked into them, and parcels from ebay and other mail order companies, which were all covered by insurance so nobody would make a fuss if they didn’t arrive.

Few people in the Post Office had ever given Wayne a second thought but now the Legend of the Missing Postman will live for ever.


Wednesday, February 19, 2025

Thursday, February 20

It always takes longer than you think, doesn't it?  After working all day, the workmen abandoned the job and said it would take a couple more hours  Mick and Jamie have been at it now for an hour or so, there's been a rush trip to Bunnings for some more brackets but the end is in sight.


Tuesday, February 18, 2025

Wednesday, February 19

Today is the day that our gazebo is to be built.  Mick has arrived and all the steel has been unloaded from his truck.  He has pre-cut it to length and constructed the two main supports, it's been painted and the next step is to fit it all together and attach it to the concrete.  He and Jamie are discussing how many sheets of laserlite they need and are off to Bunnings to buy it.  I'm keeping out of their way; my knowledge of construction is minimal and I'm happy to leave it to those who know what they're doing.

Archie is loving all the excitement.

Monday, February 17, 2025

Tuesday, February 18

 There's a tradesman here at the moment, fiddling with the blind on our front window. Typically, of Tasmania, we have a personal connection with his family.  I met his father first when I had blinds installed at Giant Steps, probably 20 years ago; it was a big order and gave the blind man's business  a boost.  Since then, he's installed blinds here and at Jamie's and for many of our friends.  Daniel, the son, had to tweak a couple of places and replace a clip or two - no charge.

I've been to pick up Archie.  Jamie has a busy day and it's better for Archie to be here than moping around in an empty house.

Sunday, February 16, 2025

Monday, February 17

 A sign went up at the front of our units announcing that Unit 4 was for sale.  It is rented at the moment and I imagine it will be difficult for the current tenants to deal with their home being sold from under them.  I'd be interested, though, to learn what is the asking price. 

I had the house to myself this morning as Marilyn went off to her Probus meeting. I had just settled down to watch something on Youtube about Donald Trump's latest folly when Bertine from Unit 5 came around to talk about the implications of the sale of the unit and she was disappointed that Marilyn was not there to share her wisdom.  I'm not comfortable about entertaining other women when Marilyn's not here but she soon arrived to rescue me.

Jamie has just messaged to say that our pergola outside the back door will be erected on Wednesday.  It should have been last week but Mick had come down with Covid and was isolated.  All the steel has been cut and painted so it's only a matter of assembly.  Can't wait!


WAITING FOR ROBERT                                                                 MAY 8, 2020

 

We’re not a close family. Oh, as children, we were well looked after and were never neglected but, looking back I get the impression our parents saw nurturing as an obligation rather than as something they enjoyed.  It’s not surprising, I suppose, that we became very self-centred, thinking only of ourselves and only considering how situations would affect us personally.

Even as children, we followed our own paths, finding our own friends and our own individual interests. One of my sisters became obsessed with ballet, another wanted to be a musician and experimented with one instrument or another until she settled on the clarinet.  Robert, my older brother, played football.   I was the studious one, absorbing myself in books, and I joined the local Cub pack after reading The Jungle Book.  

On winter evenings, when it got dark early, my parents decided that I shouldn’t walk home from Cub meetings on my own, so it was arranged that I would go to the local football ground where Robert was training and wait for him to finish so that we could walk home together.  It wasn’t unusual for me to be left in Robert’s care; my parents didn’t see that their responsibilities extended  to going out of their way to pick me up.

I didn’t really mind but I had learned very early that Robert had no concept of good time-keeping. Like everything else he was involved with, his training sessions never seemed to finish on time so I found myself, night after night, sitting for what seemed like hours in a cold and draughty football ground, waiting for Robert to decide it was time to go home.

As we became older, we moved gradually away from the heart of the family.  A couple of us went off to different universities, others moved into their own places as soon as they could afford to.  We got together, of course, on significant but rare occasions, and a pattern started to evolve.  No matter what the occasion, Robert was always the last to arrive.  My wedding was delayed because Robert was late in picking up my parents.  He showed up late for the christening of my first child even though he was to be a god-parent.

The only regular occasion when the family invariably met together was for our mother’s birthday.  I have no idea when this day took on special significance but on the Sunday closest to April 16th each year, the four siblings and their own families would gather with my mother and father for the celebration of the anniversary of her birth.  I suspect that everyone there would have preferred to be elsewhere but we were dutiful enough to accept that it was reasonable to set aside an hour of our time if it gave our mother some little pleasure.  But, of course, bloody Robert was always late and none of us could leave until at least an hour after he arrived. 

Our lives might have continued for years in this stilted way, each of us in our own little silo, meeting only on rare occasions, but the day came when we received news that Robert had died.  He had been running to catch a train, late again; he tripped and cracked his head on the platform, dying in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

We gathered as a family in the church to say our farewells, then set off for the local crematorium.  We should have anticipated what would happen next.  The hearse carrying Robert’s body broke down on the way to the crematorium and there was a delay while a replacement vehicle was sent.  We had always joked that Robert would be late for his own funeral, and he was.


Saturday, February 15, 2025

Sunday, February 16

In April or May, 2012, I stood at the entrance to Edinburgh Castle after walking along the Royal Mile.  There was a booth where they asked you to pay a few pounds for the pleasure of roaming through the grounds. However, we had other things to do and our train was leaving in a couple of hours. It was a missed opportunity because I knew, even then, that I would never return to that spot.  However, this morning I found a video on Youtube made by Steve Marsh who explored the castle and put it on the web for all to see.

It was a fascinating exploration and one of the highlights for me was seeing the ritual of firing the One o'clock Gun.  This has been going on for years, and was originally set up to alert the ships in the harbour of the right time before reliable clocks were in common use.  In one scene, I noticed a map which showed other places in the world where a One o'clock Gun is still fired regularly.   This included Fort Denison in Sydney Harbour, Hobart and Fremantle in Western Australia.

The current Edinburgh gun looked like a fairly typical field gun, but a previous gun was preserved elsewhere in the grounds.  It's called Mons Meg and was cast in 1449 and presented to King James in 1457.  Everything in the UK seems to have a long history and it's great that it's being preserved.

Friday, February 14, 2025

Saturday, February 15

 I spent yesterday fretting about shoes.  I remembered that I had bought a pair of Asics a few years ago and, although I complained about the price, they fitted me very well.  I still had them, in a corner of the garage, set aside for gardening purposes.  They fitted me very well so I think that's the answer.  They're too expensive at the local sports shops but Jamie has found them on-line for a more reasonable price so they're on their way.  I sometimes need firm direction or I wouldn't buy anyrhing.

I understand that my life is made much more complex because I hate to spend more than I need to. I'll happily spend hours in research if I can save $20 because I can't accept that a pair of brand-name shoes can cost 10 times the price of a pair from Kmart.  Both pairs are probably made in Vietnam or Thailand and any differences in the finish will be un-noticeable.

When they're on my feet, you can't tell whether they're Adidas or no-name and that suits me fine.

Wednesday, February 12, 2025

Thursday, February 13

 It was our Probus meeting yesterday but I had to leave early because I had an appointment with the podiatrist.  I thought I had an in-grown toenail but it turns out that it's more to do with my shoes.  The podiatrist said that the ones I wear every day are too narrow for my feet.  "But I don't have wide feet!" I moaned.

"No," she said. " But you have wide nails."  Wide nails?  I've had lots of insults thrown at me over the years but that's a new one.  Wide toenails, indeed.

The shoes I was wearing are New Balance and were a present from Jamie and Nera for my birthday twelve months ago.  I'm sure they weren't cheap and my back-up pair are also New Balance.  What to do?I'm not keen to spend hundreds of dollars on new shoes which might be just as bad.  At the moment I've found a pair of cheap Coles sneakers in the back of the wardrobe which are doing the trick and Jamie has rung to say he's coming around with another pair he's found that might be suitable.

I blame getting old.  Things start to go wrong when you pass 80 and I'm living proof.

Sunday, February 9, 2025

Monday, February 10

 I stopped categorising birthdays many years ago so, when someone asks if I 'enjoyed my birthday' I don't know how to answer.  I am tempted to say 'It was quiet' and that's very non-commital so I can get away with it.  This year I had one card, two phone calls and an invitation to lunch, which included a gift.  And I'm very grateful that people still bother after all these years.  The thing is that very few people even know that it is my birthday, and why would they?  

I think I'll abort that train of thought ... it's not the direction I intended to go.  In fact, I just wanted to say that Jamie and Nera took us to a nice restaurant at Seaport, Nera's nephew was there, and Archie as well.  I had planned to have their Seafood Chowder but it was sold out so I had Crumbed King Prawns and we all had a good time.  Of course, I'm assuming that ... the others might have only been there from a sense of duty and couldn't wait for the day to end.  However, I enjoyed it and that's all that matters.

And, another year ticked off ... 82 and counting!


 

THE END OF THE BEGINNNG                                                                                                APRIL 12, 2024

“I’m not going to your mother’s! Last year’s disaster was enough and I don’t intend to put myself through it again.”  Therese drew herself up to her full height and crossed her arms.  It was clear that she would not be moved.

Geoffrey drew a deep breath.  It’s always like this, he thought.  It’s her way or nothing.   “We’ll talk about it later,” he murmured soothingly.  “We don’t have to decide straight away, although Mum has asked us to confirm because she’s ordering individual party packs and needs to have definite numbers.”

“I’d like to tell your mother what to do with her individual party packs but that wouldn’t be polite.  You can go on your own if you like.  I’m sure Mummy would be pleased to have her darling son all to herself.”

Geoffrey, as always, backed down and muttered, “We’ll talk about it later.”  It wouldn’t really be a disaster if he had to go on his own; he knew Angela would be there and, without Therese breathing down his neck, he could spend as much time as he liked with Mum’s new neighbour.  When he first met her, just a few weeks ago, it was like he had been hit by lightning – her blonde hair, big blue eyes and soft smoky voice made him draw breath.

“This is Angela,” he heard his mother say, as if from a distance. “She’s just moved in next door and doesn’t know anyone yet.  I’ve invited her to come to our New Year’s Eve party and she’s accepted.  You’ll be able to get to know her better then.”

Geoffrey was determined that he would be at the party and it would be nice if he could talk to Angela undisturbed, but he couldn’t imagine how he would explain it if Therese wasn’t with him.  His mother was a great believer in family loyalties and would be very suspicious if Therese opted out.  Could he convince her to feign an illness?  Maybe, but would they get away with it?  Always in the back of his mind was the thought that his mother often threatened to change her will.  If one of the family displeased her, for example, by separating from his or her spouse, they might be disinherited. 

While Geoffrey’s mind flitted between worry about his mother’s will and more lurid thoughts about the delightful Angela, Therese’s determination to avoid her mother-in-law’s party grew.  She had other plans for that one night of the year when people let their hair down and celebrated new beginnings.  She had plans for new beginnings of her own.

There was a new member of staff at the school where she worked.  He was unlike any of the other male teachers, all of whom seemed to have succumbed to middle age while still in their thirties.  She used to think it was the chalk dust which brought on premature ageing but she hadn’t seen a stick of chalk for decades.  It was probably a combination of the paralysing boredom of the daily lessons and the constant disappointment when their students failed to grasp even the simplest of concepts.

The new addition to the staff had clearly not yet thrown in the towel.  He still displayed a youthful enthusiasm and obvious enjoyment of life.  His smile lit up the staffroom and she had noticed he was oblivious to the mutterings of resentment from the ‘old guard’.  Above all, he was African: his dark skin and joie de vivre brightened her day.  Happily, he seemed to find enjoyment in her company too and she felt enervated in his company.  She couldn’t help the wicked thoughts which filled her mind.  “You’re a married woman,” she scolded herself, but always had to stifle a giggle when she thought about what might be.

Another member of staff was having a New Year’s Eve party and Therese knew that Thomas, the new man, would be there.  What occupied Therese’s mind was how could she contrive to be at that party as well, rather than the tedious excuse for a celebration which Geoffrey’s mother inflicted on her family each year.

As New Year’s Eve approached, Therese became more and more desperate.  The issue had become more than just a wish for a one-off fling with an exotic new man; this was a life and death struggle for Therese to assure herself that life was worth living, that it was not a mind-numbing round of tedious parties at Geoffrey’s mother’s, that there was excitement and sparkle and hope in the future.  Lurking in her sub-conscious was the unwelcome query: was she still attractive enough to interest someone other than boring old Geoffrey?

When she bumped into Thomas in the staffroom the next morning, Therese casually asked whether he was looking forward to New Year’s Eve.  “Oh yes,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it very much, and so is my wife.  She arrives from Nigeria this afternoon and we will be going shopping for a new dress for her.”

That evening, when the question of New Year’s Eve was raised tentatively by Geoffrey, Therese was quick to dash any of his hopes that she wouldn’t be going.  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I’ll be there.  I’m looking forward to having a chat with Angela, the new neighbour.”


Saturday, February 8, 2025

Sunday, February 9

 It seems particularly quiet here this morning.  The family in the house just in front of us have moved out and taken their two little yappy dogs with them.  I wouldn't have thought that it would make so much difference but they barked at everyone who passed in the street and everyone who came down the driveway into our little cluster of units.  They were particularly noisy when Archie arrived although he quickly learned to ignore them. And now they've gone and silence reigns.

I'm twiddling my thumbs, marking time until we leave for my birthday lunch.  A particular favourite of  mine at this restaurant is their Seafood Chowder and I'll probably have that again.  You never know, though, I might be daring and have something else.

We'll be leaving in half an hour so I had better think about getting dressed.

Friday, February 7, 2025

Saturday, February 8

 I'm at a bit of a loose end this morning.  Since moving into this unit, I've been in the habit of watering the shrubs each morning.  I know, most sensible people do it in the evening but I was influenced by something I read on Google that, in Tasmania, it's better to water in the morning, Something to do with the effect of sunlight on moulds or something.  However, the past few days I've been watering after the sun comes up and I'm sure the water is evaporating before it can be absorbed by the plants.  By the time I reach the northern end, the southern plants are crying out for more. 

The solution is obvious: ignore the dubious advice of Google and water in the evenings - give the plants an opportunity to absorb some moisture before the sun slurps it all away.   If I do that, though, it means I have an extra twenty minutes or so each morning to be accommodated

So it's a matter of re-calibrating my routine to accommodate more time in the am and less in the pm.  It shouldn't be too difficult but we'll see.

PS I couldn't resist adding this snippet I came across this morning.  I was browsing Quora, marveling at the ignorance of so many USians when I noticed this reference: '..perhaps Musk will ship you all off to Mars, like the Golgafrincham ark .. But you won't get that reference.  Or even know where your towel is.'

What a good feeling it is when you do get an obscure reference!

Thursday, February 6, 2025

Friday, February 7

I found myself on the road early this morning.  Nera's nephew, Brendan is studying in Tasmania at the moment and part of the course is to get practical experience in the field.  Currently, he has a placement at Westbury.  Jamie drops him off there in the morning and collects him again in the afternoon.  This morning he had something else to do so I volunteered to help out.

Brendan is a very pleasant young man but I'm not great with teenagers and have trouble making conversation with them.  Luckily, I could blame the road noise for my 'inabilty' to hear so the trip passed in relative silence.

I'm now back at home, breakfast is finished, and we're waiting for Sandra, the cleaning lady, to arrive.


BETWEEN THE CRACKS                                                              NOVEMBER 4, 2022

‘Are we there yet?’ The plaintive cry came from the back seat where my 8-year-old twins huddled together.  I was starting to worry that they were losing faith in their Dad.  After all, I had promised them a quick trip to the beach where we would pitch our tent and have an idyllic few days enjoying the fresh air, the sun and the sand.  Instead, we were on some remote mountain road, in the dark, groping our way towards our destination.  The weather was appalling: heavy rain and gusty winds threatening to blow the car off to the side of the road.

We had been held up when I had a flat tyre and it seemed to take hours for the RACT man to arrive.  Then the storm came, out of nowhere, it seemed.  We had seen no place on this road where we might sit it out so I had no option but to press on, hoping that there would be no more hitches and that we would eventually reach somewhere inhabited where we could find some shelter.

Through the driving rain, I spotted a sign ahead. As we came closer, I could see that it said ‘Rest Area’ with an arrow pointing to the left.  Without too much thought, I swung the wheel over and tentatively followed the track to a small clearing. I didn’t know what I hoped to find but I suppose the words Rest Area sparked a little glimmer of hope that it might offer some respite from the relentless, howling wind and pouring rain.

I could see the shape of a building ahead and, as we came closer, I could see that it was a simple hut. The rain seemed to ease for a moment and the wind was calmer too so, telling the twins to stay where they were, I stepped out of the car to investigate.  The door of the hut was unlocked and, using my phone to light my way, I stepped inside.  It was clearly a place where travellers might stop to have a picnic, with a fireplace at one end and benches around the walls for seating.  There was a rustic table in the centre of the room and a strong smell of dust and mildew.

It was certainly not luxurious but it was dry and would offer protection from the storm so I thought that it might be sensible to break our journey here, try to get some sleep and hope the weather improved so that we could drive on in the morning.  We had sleeping bags with us, of course, and enough snack food to keep us going. 

Getting our stuff from the car into the hut didn’t take long but I was soaked through before I had finished. However, we were soon safely inside and rolling out our sleeping bags.  I tried to light the fire but the previous occupants had left no twigs nor kindling so I had no success.  No matter, snuggling into our bags would soon warm us up and, no doubt, everything would look better in the morning.

I don’t know what woke me.  Maybe it was a surprising cold draft which came out of nowhere or, perhaps, it was the moaning sound of the wind through the cracks in the walls.  I think I woke first but it wasn’t long afterwards that both of the twins were wide awake too.

“What’s that noise?” Jack asked, grabbing on to his sister for comfort. 

“It’s only the wind,” I said, “Go back to sleep.”

But I worried that it wasn’t just the wind.  The moaning sounds seemed to form words. I could have sworn that I could make out intelligible meaning.

“Who are you?” I thought I could hear. “What are you doing here?”

Jack and Linda were wide awake now and demanding that I tell them what was happening.

“I don’t know,” I said, “But there’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

I didn’t think the children believed me; I must confess I didn’t believe myself.

“We’re just travellers sheltering from the storm,” I said out loud. “We need to rest for a couple of hours and we’ll be gone in the morning.”

I realised that the children would think their father was going mad: talking to a phantom voice, but it seemed to reassure them that I was taking their fears seriously.  They both settled down into their sleeping bags and, before long, they were asleep.  During the night, the storm seemed to abate and I slept too.

The morning dawned bright and calm.  We packed our belongings back into the car and set off to finish our journey.  But, just before I climbed into the driver’s seat, I turned to the front door of the hut and said, “Thank you.”

 

 


 

 


Wednesday, February 5, 2025

Thursday, February 6

 It's just a few days until my birthday but it's being over-shadowed this year by the fact that Marilyn's 80th is less than a month later.  That suits me fine; I've never been a fan of over-the-top celebrations and my 80th extravaganza a couple of years ago was a bit over the top.

We had that party at home and opened the garage to make extra space.  It didn't work particularly well because we ended up with two separate groups.  Marilyn has decided that her party will be at the local Bowls Club.  We have no connection with it other than the fact that Probus meets there and the morning tea they provide is pretty good.  It's a big room, too, and there is plenty of space for any kids to run around.

 For my birthday this year, when I will be 82 (hardly worth mentioning), Jamie and Nera will take us out for lunch at a fish restaurant at Launceston's Seaport. To emphasise how unimportant the occasion is, I didn't get a choice of venue.  Oh, no!  The determining factor is whether the restaurant has outside tables so that Archie can be there.  "You wouldn't want to have it without Archie," I was informed.

Archie will insist on sitting on my lap throughout the meal and will scrounge the best bits of my expensive fish.  What a birthday! (But I'm looking forward to it nonetheless.)

Tuesday, February 4, 2025

Wednesday, February 5

 I've mentioned before that we enjoy watching Youtube videos of people travelling.  Since out travelling days are long gone, we get vicarious pleasure in watching other people going through the hardships just so that we can see what they see (or say 'We've been there!)

On favourite is a fellow called Ken (Ken Abroad).  He is German, travels alone and focuses on SE Asia.  He doesn't seem to have a wife nor a girlfriend and rarely travels with anyone else.  He seems particularly naive and puts himself in situations which would look to be foolhardy. He has a few favourite tricks which he repeats endlessly wherever he happens to be: getting a haircut in a local barber shop  or a shave, buying some local food at a market, buying a football shirt representing the country he is in, and buying some food to give to a beggar.  And his routine seems to give him great success.

 I've been trying to analyse what attributes you would need to be a successful blogger and, apart from foolhardiness, a cheerful manner, and so on, I think you have to be a great talker.  Ken, like his counterparts, could talk under wet cement.  We watched one clip this morning, 21 minutes long, with Ken sitting in his hotel room talking about his plans for the future.  He had no notes and was talking in English, which to him is a foreign language, but he didn't stumble once, hardly drew breath and rounded up a 21 minute monologue brilliantly.  I couldn't do it. 

Sunday, February 2, 2025

Monday, February 3

 It's another medical appointment today, this time for Marilyn.  It's just getting a blood test but it means a trip into town and that means pushing ourselves out of our comfortable rut.  Jamie has already been this morning, to drop Archie off on his way to work.  We see Archie most days and that's great.

Jamie and Marilyn have been busily planning her 80th birthday party.  I had mine at home but Marilyn's decided she wants to have it at the local Bowls Club.  There will be a lot more space and someone else will do the cleaning up.  Jamie has put a general notice on Facebook and those invited have already started to respond.  The local Filipino community will be heavily involved and we hope Madeleine and her children will come down from Brisbane for the event.,

I've been watching a number of travellers on Youtube, mostly from the UK but one fellow from Germany and a couple from South Africa.  Where are the Aussies, I thought, so I've checked with Google and identified a few.  Most seem to be caravanners doing the 'big lap' but there are one of two travelling in SE Asia.  I'll have a closer look at them.


BRIEF ENCOUNTER                                                                                        JUNE, 2020

How many of us can say, honestly, that we have met our heroes?  My wife and I had dinner once with Sir Edmund and Lady Hillary at a motel in Sydney and I’m happy to tell you more about that some other time but, unless you’re very fortunate or make a nuisance of yourself, it’s rare to see celebrities up close.  Normally, the best we can hope for is to have a brief encounter with someone we admire, perhaps in a crowded airport or, by chance, in the street.

In 1954, though, 70% of the Australian population were lucky enough to have a brief encounter with one of the most popular celebrities of the time – Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II.  Yes, an estimated 7 million Australians, from a population at the time of around 10 million, lined the streets when the Royal cars passed by and flocked to the various showgrounds where the Queen would make an appearance.  As a reporter of the time commented:  Australians waited in all weathers and at all manner of vantage points to see her passing by, like a waving doll in a gilded cage. 

Our Prime Minister of the time made the most of this Royal visit. The PM left no doubt that he believed in the myth that Australia was a far-flung outpost of the Mother Country in the South Seas. Describing himself as ‘British to the bootstraps’, he must have been overjoyed at the opportunity to show his Queen all that Australia had to offer and, at the same time bask in the reflected glory attached to Her Majesty, which would help build up his standing with the voters. 

Ming the Merciless they called him, after an evil character in a Flash Gordon comic book of 1934.  It may just have been a happy coincidence that his preferred name lent itself to this connection and that some wit in the opposition party thought that there might be some political mileage to be made by using it as often as possible.

His name was Robert Menzies, followed by a string of initials, some of which allowed him to be referred to as Sir Robert.  He was intensely proud of his British ancestry and made it clear that he preferred the old Scottish pronunciation of his name - Ming-is: which led to his being dubbed Ming. 

The wharfies at Port Kembla also derided him as Pig Iron Bob because he expedited a shipment of raw steel to Japan in the 1930s which everyone knew would be turned into weapons to support Japan’s imperial ambitions in the Pacific and, as it transpired, they were turned against Australia during the Second World War.

He had two stints as Prime Minister at a time when Australians expected their PM to be aloof from the common herd, erudite and patrician in their demeanour. He is still Australia’s longest-serving Prime Minister.

In the eyes of many, Sir Robert Menzies let his country down in his speech of welcome to Her Majesty in the Australian Parliament on a later Royal visit in 1963.  Instead of using the occasion when the world was listening to offer a speech which highlighted the achievements of a proud, young nation, firmly establishing its place in the word, Sir Robert Menzies chose to play the lovestruck young swain bending his knee after a brief encounter with the unattainable lady of the manor.

Quoting from a rather trite poem by Thomas Ford, Menzies stunned his listeners. 

I did but see her passing by

And yet I love her till I die.

 It is said the Queen simpered but it is just as likely she was trying to cover up a sudden bilious attack.

 

 


Friday, January 31, 2025

Saturday, February 1

 I noticed I didn't post any message yesterday.  Clearly, I had nothing to say in the morning and that situation didn't change during the day.  I've always thought of this blog as being a daily journal and that's fine if we're travelling somewhere like Nepal and every day brings a new experience, but, when you're living in a nondescript suburb of a small city in Tasmania, reportable experiences are hard to find.  

Anyway, that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.  Here's the story I would have posted yesterday if I had bothered to write a blog.   It's called Suzanne.


SUZANNE                                                                                                     26 MARCH 2021

Suzanne was the only person she knew who had that name and she never understood what her mother was thinking when she decided to inflict her only daughter with such an unusual appellation.  It was unlikely her mother had read it because she couldn’t read so she must have overheard it somewhere.  It may have been part of some obscure hope that people with influence might be impressed with the name and give Suzanne special attention.

One never knew with Suzanne’s mother; she may have lacked education but she was cunning and was forever thinking of ways that her daughter could have more opportunities than she, herself, had enjoyed.  

Suzanne never went to school because her family would have been expected to pay a shilling a week for the privilege, and there was never a shilling to spare for such frivolity.  Instead, she occasionally visited the local Church minister along with half a dozen other under-privileged children for some basic tuition in reading and writing.

When Suzanne was twelve years old, her mother died and her father said it was time that Suzanne contributed to the family income.  He had arranged for her to meet the housekeeper at the Big House and warned her to be polite and say, “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am”

With her heart in her mouth, Suzanne dragged her heels through the town and up the long driveway to the Big House.  She had never been close to the house before and couldn’t understand why just one family would need so much room.  Her own house only had two rooms and everybody in the street shared one lavatory.  She had been warned not to go to the front door so made her way to the back and timidly knocked.  The door was opened by the grandest individual Suzanne had ever seen: he was tall with glossy dark hair and an immaculate uniform.  “Yes?” he enquired.  Suzanne was speechless but the man beckoned her inside and pushed her along a corridor to a little room where she could see, sitting there, a severe-looking woman dressed all in black.

This was the housekeeper, who said, “You must be the girl who needs a job.  What is your name?”

  “Please, ma’am, it’s Suzanne.”

“That’s a most unsuitable name for a servant.  We will call you Susan.   You may call me Mrs Hodges.”  You will begin work here as a scullery maid and, if you are satisfactory, you may be selected to become a chamber maid.  You will work from 6 o’clock each morning and you will be allowed one afternoon off each week.  Because you are just twelve years old, your wages will be paid to your father. Report to Cook who will find you more suitable clothes and explain your duties.”

From that moment, Suzanne’s life changed forever.  Vaguely, she had thought that she might marry and have a small home of their own where she could bring up her own children.

Instead, her own dreams had to be set aside and all her energies and attention must now be on fulfilling the desires of the members of the wealthy family who owned the Big House.  Susan (as she now must call herself) didn’t even know the name of the family who owned the house and how they had come to own it.  Were they aristocrats, or did they make their money some other way?  Susan knew that ‘real’ aristocrats looked down on people who were making their money ‘in trade’ and she hoped her new employers were not members of that grubby bunch.

Days passed and Susan’s life fell into a dull but reassuring routine.  There was one other scullery maid, a cheerful girl called Beryl who took Susan under her wing and helped her through the difficult early days.  Mrs Hodges was strict but was seldom seen by the younger staff who worked assiduously to keep out of her way.  There were a couple of boys on the staff about Susan’s age and she enjoyed their cheeky banter.  She shared a bed with Beryl but the sheets were always clean and the food from the kitchen was more than she expected.  The best part of her day was when all the staff sat together around the large table in the kitchen for their evening meal. Her life might have improved if she had a little money to spend on her afternoon-off but it was all given to her father who never thought to pass any on to her.

Susan, if she thought about it, would have agreed that her life was surprisingly happy.  Certainly, she was working hard and had very little free time but she enjoyed the friendship of the other servants and Beryl was almost like a sister.  Also, one of the young men who worked in the coach house was showing an interest in her and they were walking out together on their afternoon off. 

We can only imagine how Susan’s life might have evolved but, sadly, she died in the 1918 Spanish Flu epidemic.  To his credit, her father insisted that her headstone should show her true name, and it is still there in the churchyard of her village.  Her young man visited her grave for a time but finally realised he needed to get on with his life and his visits ceased.  Suzanne is now all but forgotten, just a girl with a slightly exotic name who trod lightly on the earth.

 



Wednesday, January 29, 2025

Thursday, January 30

 I don't find much to interest me among the random posts which pop up on Facebook but there was one yesterday which caught my eye. It said something like 'If you were born between 1937 and 1946, congratulations, you are part of a very exclusive group of just 1% of the Australian community.  I am fascinated by the implications of that statement but I have to rush.  Marilyn and I both have an appointment at the doctor's.  I will post this now but come back later and add to it.

It's now 4.00pm.  What a marathon at the doctor's.  Jamie had to go as well so he drove.  We have taken on a new doctor who has just opened at practice at Westbury, about a 15-minute drive away.  Jamie knew him years ago at a different practice and recommended him.  We were quite happy to move as we couldn't get the doctor of our choice at the local practice unless we booked weeks in advance.

Today was to be a full-blown annual check-up for each of us.  I went in to the nurse first.  'Take off your shoes, loosen your belt, lie on the bed!'  She wrapped electrodes to my ankles and wrists, switched on the machine which went 'beep' and wrote something on a bit of paper.  She weighed me, took my pulse, measured my height (I'm 5cm shorter than I thought I was!) and asked me to 'repeat after me'.  

Then I waited to see the doctor.  He takes his time and records everything that happens on his computer.  He didn't have a dozen patients waiting outside so was happy to string the consultation along.  Multiply all that by 3 and it took until lunchtime for the three of us to be sorted.  I was delighted to get home. 

Apparently, we're as well as can be expected for our age and that's about as good as it gets.

Looking again at the Facebook post above, my first thought was 'What proportion of the country's social services budget does that very fortunate 1% consume?  Might it be more than they deserve?

Tuesday, January 28, 2025

Wednesday, January 29

 We had an early start this morning; Jamie's mate, Mick, was coming to measure up for a pergola we're erecting over the concrete slab at the back.  Mick is one of these handy people who can turn his hand to anything; attaching some steel posts to a concrete slab is well within his capabilities.

Marlyn has decided she would like to have i in place before her birthday on March 2nd and that gives Mick a deadline.  I headed off to the closest ATM, at the Commonwealth Bank, to get some cash for Mick to buy the steel, etc, but the ATM retained my card.  Because it's not a CBA card, the bank can't give it back to me so I have to contact Mystate to get a new card issued.

I think they make these rules to upset older people so we'll die earlier of frustration making the world a better place for the young and fit. 

Anyway, Mick has been, the measurements are taken and he's gone off to purchase the materials.  It could happen anytime soon.

Monday, January 27, 2025

Tuesday, January 28

 Marilyn went off to her Craft group this morning, leaving me to find something to do.  I made the mistake of opening up Youtube to see if there was anything worth watching and stumbled across a mass of stories about the Trump lunacy in the US.  I started with the commentators who took delight in rubbishing all he is doing, but there were some which were much more accepting of his policies.  Then I noticed the Sky News logo on the bottom of the screen.  No doubt they were just trying to offer some balance to the debate.

It must be hard to make his ramblings seem sane but I suppose that's what they're paid to do.  I'm glad we live in a different hemisphere; Canada is already starting to feel the heat.

Anyway, I quickly shut the TV down and went back to my book.

Sunday, January 26, 2025

Monday, January 27

We watched a bit of the Australia Day concert on TV last night and had fun trying to put names to the long-forgotten faces that popped up.  It reminds us how far we are from the centre of the world here in Longford.   The highlight for me was the performance of Dragon.  They must all be as old as me but  to hear April Sun in Cuba was a delight.

Longford is starting to wake from its long Summer sleep and our regular activities will return this week, with Marilyn's Craft group.  She's looking forward to getting back into routine.


THE WRONG SUITCASE                                                                        18 AUGUST 2023

We all know what it’s like at the airport, especially one of the larger ones like Sydney or Heathrow.  The suitcases come around the carousel in no order.  Some are lying flat, others stay upright but, unless you have made prior arrangements to make it stand out from the crowd, they all look too much the same.  Sensible people attach coloured ribbons to the handle or plaster the side with stickers but, mostly, there’s no way of identifying the suitcase until you actually have it in your hands.

Miriam, like most of us, had a generic suitcase with no individual markings.  It was red, like so many others, and a popular brand.  She was surprised when she came late at the carousel after her trip to find that most of the bags had already been collected but was pleased to see her red suitcase making its weary way around the loop.

Being tired herself, she just dumped the suitcase in her hallway and fell into bed.  It was the next day before she bothered to open it, knowing that the dirty clothes it contained would not be the worse for waiting an extra day or two before finding their way to the washing machine.  But, when Miriam finally got around to opening the bag, she didn’t recognise any of the contents.  Where were the dirty socks and items of underwear?  What were these brown-paper wrapped parcels?  Slowly, it dawned on her that she had collected the wrong suitcase from the carousel. 

Miriam  was intrigued by the parcels and could not resist opening one to see what it contained.  Inside, she found some pencils, origami paper, other stationery, and a couple of children’s picture books.  Was it a present, she wondered, for a child?  Intrigued, she opened another parcel; the contents were similar, although probably aimed at an older child.

It wasn’t too late now to do something about it so Miriam carefully sorted through the contents of the suitcase to make sure there was nothing that might be dangerous, closed it up and put it back in the car to be returned to the airport.

She wasn’t sure where she would deliver the suitcase but a friendly airline employee directed her to the lost luggage office.  Here she explained her dilemma to the person behind the counter.  He smiled and said, “I have your suitcase here.”  Then he gestured to a young man sitting on a bench against the wall.

“Here’s your bag,’ he called out. “This young lady picked it up by accident.”

A visible smile of relief passed across the face of the young man who hurried forward. 

“Thank you,” he said. “That suitcase was on its way to Nepal to an orphanage we support in Kathmandhu.  I didn’t know whether anyone would take the trouble to bring it back so you can’t imagine how relieved I am.  It’s taken us months to collect all that material and the children would be so disappointed if it didn’t arrive.”

Miriam was intrigued and, when the young man suggested he would buy her a coffee to say thanks, she was pleased to accept.  Over coffee, he explained that he was part of a loose organisation which gathered donations for children in Nepal.  Several companies helped but most of the donations came from private individuals.  When they had accumulated enough, a volunteer would travel to Nepal at their own expense to deliver the bounty.  It was his turn to make the journey and he was devastated that he had misplaced the suitcase containing the gifts.  He had managed to postpone his flight and, now that the gifts were back in his possession, he would be able to travel that afternoon.

It was as if a light had turned on in Miriam’s head.  What a wonderful thing that this young man and his colleagues were doing.  There were, literally, hundreds of charities crying out for assistance but there was something about this particular program which appealed to Miriam’s sense of adventure.  She had always thought she might become involved in some charity work and here was an opportunity to do something special and the thought of Nepal stirred her imagination.

Over the next thirty years, Miriam worked tirelessly for Nepal.  She made countless trips there, had an audience with the King in Exile, and with Kumari, the Living Child Goddess. In 2022 on her sixtieth birthday, she received the Award of the Order of the Star of Nepal.  And all because she picked up the wrong suitcase at the airport. 


Saturday, January 25, 2025

Sunday, January 26

 In the days when I was a full-time worker, I often used to wonder how I would fill mt days when I retired.   Being at wok took up at least one-third of five days and I managed to find time for socialising, membership of several organisations, keeping the house in order and, at various times, studying.

Nowadays, most of those things have gone.  I don't go to work, don't study, the house is low-maintenance, Probus is in recess until February and my social life is paltry.  I might spend 15 minutes a day on this blog and, apart from an hour in the morning with our breakfast, we don't switch on the TV in daylight hours.

And, it's 1.30 and I've achieved nothing..

Isn't retirement wonderful!

Friday, January 24, 2025

Saturday, January 25

We're making a rare trip into Launceston this morning.  Usually, we'll only go there for medical reasons: a scan of some kind or an appointment at Specsavers, but today we're going to visit an actual shop.  Marilyn has started to order more and more 'stuff' online; not just from Temu or eBay, but from other businesses as well.  Her latest purchase was two blouses from Suzanne Grae.  One is a bit big and the only way to deal with it is to take it back to their actual shop.  I'll drop her off, loiter around the block and pick her up again.

The weather is a bit overcast and, in olden times we might have enjoyed a browse through the town but those days are gone.  

Thursday, January 23, 2025

Friday, January 24

 Friday, January 24

Sandra, the cleaning lady, is coming this morning. I've removed all the linen from the bed to leave it clear for her to remake and made a pile in the laundry to be washed.  We have two QS beds in the unit but the one in the spare room is seldom used.  I often look at the beds and think that they are just a little too big for the rooms they are currently in.  They were bought, of course, when we lived in roomier premises but our retirement unit has been built to different specifications.

When we married, fifty-nine years ago, we had a standard double bed, like most couples had at the time but we must have succumbed to an advertising campaign and changed it for a queen-sized model.  There was no reason why we needed bigger; clearly we just went along with the hype.  And now, when a smaller bed would fit better in the room, we have too much invested in the right-sized linen to change.

To compound the problem, we invested in new bedside tables about 10 years ago, and we went for roomy ones, wider than the ones they replaced.  So, in our bijou bedroom, perfectly suited to a retired couple, we have a 150cm wide bed flanked by two 57cm bedside tables.  That's a total width, with some allowance for spacing, of around 270 cm.  

If we expended several thousand dollars on a new bed, bedside tables and linen, we could save as much as 30cm in the total width; 30cm of extra space to make moving around more convenient. 

A double bed is also shorter than a QS bed so there would be more space-saving in that dimension, toom if we changed.

And I realise, of course, that that is the reason we changed.  I'm too tall for a 180cm long bed and sleep better if it's 190 cm, that is, queen-size.  I'll have to think of something else to worry about.


POETRY – THE KOOKABURRA’S CALL                                                       DECEMBER 2, 2022

In the wilds across Australia you can always hear the chatter

Of bush birds loudly arguing about things that really matter.

There are magpies, wrens and lyrebirds all clamouring fit to burst

Demanding our attention: I don’t know which is worst.

 

The magpie, called the flautist, is beautiful to hear,

His lovely perfect melody is pleasant to the ear.

The lyrebird is different, a mimic through and through

Copying the bush sounds, it must be hard to do.

 

And then there is the kookaburra …..


Early settlers to Australia, we are told, were unnerved by the sound of the kookaburra.  ‘It’s the devil,’ they said when they heard the call in the morning or the early evening.  Of course, we now know it’s simply the territorial call of the adult bird, letting other kookaburras know that he is still in charge of his territory.

When the local aboriginals were asked what was the bird that could make that unearthly sound, they replied, in their own language, ‘Gugabarra’, and that was misheard, of course, and it has become Kookaburra. The Aboriginal name and the European corruption are both onomatopoeic. There was a time when Laughing Jackass was preferred but that epithet seems to have been consigned to history.  I’ve also heard it referred to as ‘The Bushman’s Alarm Clock’ because of the regularity of its call but perhaps Australia is becoming too sophisticated to hold to those reminders of our untutored past.

The kookaburra is a member of the Kingfisher family; in fact, the largest member.  However, they rarely eat fish, although they have been known to take goldfish from artificial ponds.  They seem to prefer lizards, snakes and other small prey.  The largest of them can grow to 47cm.

The kookaburra’s distinctive call has been co-opted for use in movies and TV shows as a representative call of any jungle scene, whether it be Australian, African or South-East Asian. A Johnny Weismuller movie of 1938, set in Africa, had a kookaburra’s call in the background.  Even today, Disney uses the distinctive call in the various jungles of its theme parks.  The popular UK show, I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here, which is set in the Australian jungle near Murwillumbah, makes great use of the kookaburra’s distinctive cackle.

It’s an unlikely export for Australia but plays its part with our other iconic animals: Skippy, the Bush Kangaroo and Tas, the Tasmanian Devil.


Monday, January 20, 2025

Tuesday, January 21

 I had an early start this morning; I was expected at the hospital for a scan and they needed me there a couple of hours early to take some sort of preparation for 'contrast'.  Parking at the hospital is impossible but, luckily, Jamie was able to drop me off and come back for me later.  It's not something I look forward to but the staff at the hospital are always cheerful and efficient and things could be a lot worse.

It meant, of course, that I couldn't watch Mr Trump's inauguration.  I scratch my head and wonder what brought that particular corner of civilisation to choose Donald Trump to be their leader ... again..  I often read through the Quora website and am regularly amazed at the narrow focus many USians have on their  understanding of the world.  I know their education system is sadly lacking, especially in the more rural states, but surely anyone of normal intelligence could see the flaws in the country they call the greatest.

It makes me glad that I live in this boring corner of the world - Australia.

Saturday, January 18, 2025

Sunday, January 19

 I was musing yesterday about not having any plans for the day and hoping that it might be another day with not very much happening.  But, Jamie turned up with a new whiz-bang piece of gardening equipment and announced we were going to trim the various bushes and hedge-like plants that we have in the backyard.  The implement looked like the sword that a swordfish might be very proud of.  There was a handle and a place where the keen gardener could attach a Ryobi 18v battery.  Jamie's mate, Chris, had acquired it with some gardening package he had bought and could see no use for it in his new yard.

I was happy enough to go along with the exercise and was very impressed with the efficiency of the operation.  Marilyn involved herself in the excitement too so it was a family affair.  There was a bit of cleaning up to do and that involved a lot of bending over so I couldn't stand up straight when I got out of bed this morning.

I know .. I know, you can pay people to do those sorts of jobs but there's a real shortage of gardeners for hire in our area.  We do our best.

Saturday, January 18

 It's not warm this morning and the forecast says it won't reach 18 until mid-afternoon.  I'm dressed in shorts which is my usual attire in the so-called summer months, but I'm also wearing a long-sleeved jumper.  Both Marilyn and I are feeling lethargic about doing anything today.  She mentioned the other day that she wanted to browse through a particular dress shop in Launceston but that idea has been shelved for the time being.

I always like to have some thought in my mind about what I might do each day but I'm drawing a blank.  Perhaps a bit of Watching (TV), Reading (a book) and Cuppa (coffee) is the go.

Thursday, January 16, 2025

Friday, January 17

 Friday, January 17

A few years ago, when we were travelling quite often, I bought myself an e-reader.  It seemed a good idea as I could finish a book in a couple of days and normal books were too bulky and heavy to carry in my luggage.  The big seller was the Kindle but I bought the cheaper option, the Kobo, and was very happy. I downloaded more books than I could read in my lifetime and was never without something to occupy my time.

Years later, my last Kobo reader has 'gone to God' and I now read mostly on a little tablet.  This is fine but it doesn't work in sunlight.  

Now the weather is better and we have more time than we know what to do with, we've taken to sitting outside in the morning.  I'm conditioned to want to read whenever I sit down and, of course, my little tablet doesn't cope with bright sunlight.  There's nothing for it but to buy another ebook reader.  Jamie wanted me to buy a Kindle but it would be at least $318 and all my downloaded library books are in the wrong format.

A new Kobo might be $259 so I had to look elsewhere and I found one called High-clear on Amazon for $124.15 and all my books would be compatible.  What could go wrong?

It's quite a nice-looking machine although the font is a bit small.  No matter, I can cope. It works well in bright sunlight so I'm reasonably happy.  However, today, after just a few weeks, it's stopped working.  I haven't even read one book on it.  A quick message to Amazon who palm me off to some shady company in China and I'm waiting for satisfaction. Didn't the Rolling Stones sing a song about this?



COLD AUGUST NIGHT                                                                                          MARCH 1, 2024

August nights in Longford are always cold.  Hamish pulled his coat more closely around his body, pushed his ungloved hands more deeply into his pockets and trudged wearily to where his car was parked.    There was no one else in the streets and, apart from a bit of noise from the last revellers leaving the hotel, all was quiet.  Hamish was enjoying his job at the Blenheim Hotel but the late finishes were proving difficult.  Maybe he should talk to the manager to see whether a different shift might be possible.

He crossed the deserted street and trudged slowly towards the park where he had earlier eft his car; as he passed Ernesto’s Coffee Shop, a flash of light in his peripheral vision caught his eye.  “OPEN” the flashing sign announced to anyone watching.  Open? Hamish wondered.  When has Ernesto’s ever been open at this time of night?   He was tired and might have continued walking but his curiosity won out and he pushed at the door.

A bell tinkled as the door opened and Hamish groped his way into the gloomy room.  He had enjoyed coffee here many times and was familiar with the bizarre collection of furniture: mismatched tables and chairs and stools fabricated from the cast-iron seats of vintage tractors.

“Hello!” Hamish called out. “Is anyone there?”

A curtain swished as a hand pulled it aside and a very odd-looking individual appeared from a back room and appeared before Hamish.  He was dressed all in black and wore a tartan scarf around his neck.

“Good evening, Hamish,” the strange person enunciated, in a gloomy voice. “How nice of you to call in.  I suppose you are wondering why Ernesto’s is open at this ungodly hour.  But I am forgetting my manners.  Would you like a coffee, before I explain the situation?”

Hamish accepted gratefully and took a seat.  Soon, a coffee appeared before him and the strange individual sat down opposite him, took a deep breath and intoned, “Pardon me for being abrupt but there is no time to waste.  I know you’ll agree we live in interesting times and there are some of us who believe that, unless action is taken, we are all going to be surprised at how badly things will turn out.  Politicians are letting us down appallingly and more and more people are living in desperation.  Something must change.”

He paused as if waiting for Hamish to say something.  Hamish hesitated, unwilling to commit himself to an opinion but, eventually, he murmured, “Hmmm, life’s not always easy, is it?”

“Exactly!” exclaimed the other, “And wouldn’t it be great if something could be done about it?”  He paused, as if re-considering what he was about to say. Drawing a deep breath, he pressed on.

“For too long, Tasmania has been the forgotten child of the Australian nation.  For too long, we have been treated as the rather simple young brother, content to be given the leftovers from the grown-ups’ table.  Well, that is all about to change.  A new coalition of a number of active groups is being formed.  There is intelligence in this group, and integrity and energy.  Our objective is to secure the independence of Tasmania from the oppression of the mainland states.  Without the dead anchor of those monoliths holding us back, we can be sure of a bright future.  Here, in the Apple Isle, we have the resources, the energy, the drive to become the Pearl of the Pacific.  We’re in discussion with a local politician to become our new president.  He’ll be only a figurehead, of course, as all the decisions will be made by a committee.  I won’t tell you who he is but you will know of him.”

“Now that I’ve explained the future, will you join us?”

Hamish thought for a moment.  “Where are you from?” he said, at last.

“Sydney,” replied the man.

“Nah, sorry, mate, not interested,” Hamish drawled and headed for the door.

“Wait,” the man called. “You haven’t paid for your coffee.”

What’s he thinking? thought Hamish as he headed for his car.  Who in Tasmania is going to listen to some blow-in from Sydney.  He must be dreamin’,


Wednesday, January 15, 2025

Thursday, January 16

Marilyn had an appointment in Launceston yesterday but, before we could leave, Jamie arrived to announce he would take her 'to give me a break'.  While I was musing on this turn of events, I heard the garbage men trundling up the street.  I started to wander out to collect the bin but met Bertine from Number 5 bringing it in for me.

"I thought I would save you the bother," she said, gaily.

I thanked her, of course, but I can't help feeling just a little miffed at the way things are turning out.  Do I look like I need looking after?  Do people think I have reached the stage in life when I can't be trusted to do anything?  

Am I becoming redundant?  I've read about how Eskimos put their old people out on the ice when they become too old to contribute.  The polar bears deal with them.  At least in Australia we are a bit more civilised and the worst thing we do is shove them into a nursing home for their twilight years.

Certainly I'm getting older but I'm not decrepit yet.  Although, it's nice when I can use the excuse of getting older to avoid doing something I would rather not.  It's a matter of getting the balance right.

Tuesday, January 14, 2025

Wednesday. January 15

 I've hung out the washing but the weather forecast is for ... thunderstorms this afternoon.   I put in the three dots to signify a pause.  This is when I sprinted to the clothes line to bring in the washing as quickly as I could.  You won't notice but I'm now wearing a different shirt to the one I had on when I was typing the first 50 or so characters. The navy blue one is hanging in the laundry to dry and I'm now sporting one in a tan colour.

The problem with these summer storms is they are all sound and fury and very little action.  The splash of raindrops stopped as soon as I had the washing.  in.  Do I put it out again, or is it better to use the dryer?

(That phrase 'sound and fury rang a little bell in my head so I had to look it up.  It's from Macbeth and the full quote is 

'It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing.'

Pretty appropriate, actually!

Monday, January 13, 2025

Tuesday, January 14

 We've fallen into a comfortable routine since moving into our little unit.  In 2020, beset by the COVID epidemic, we knew we had to make decisions in our lives which would reflect that we were getting older, slowing down and reducing our involvement in outside activities.  We were still fit enough to go walking every day, work at elections, do the weekly shop and even travel a bit.  But we knew the day was fast approaching when all those activities would fall by the wayside. The move to Longford was in anticipation that our lives would be different and we knew too many people who hung on to the home they loved even though it no longer fit their needs.

And it all came to pass as we anticipated.  We worked at one more round of exams, Marilyn did one more election, we took one more trip to Sydney, and we still took pleasure in going to the shops.  But, all those elements of our past life have been confined to the dustbin of history.  I still pop into the local supermarket a couple of times a week for fresh fruit and bread, but the big red Coles truck brings almost all of our groceries.  We still try to walk each day but our 'travel' is now limited to watching Youtube videos and enjoying the adventures of people we have never met.  If they happen to be in a part of the world we have visited in the past, we take pleasure in the vivid memories evoked.

All in all, we're content with our lives.  And, having just celebrated our 59th wedding anniversary, we're now looking forward to Marilyn's 80th birthday on March 2nd.  The party will be on Sunday, 3rd at the Longford Bowls Club (there was an important match to be played on the Saturday so the Club couldn't take us on the right day) and we are expecting a crowd to attend.  

Sunday, January 12, 2025

Monday, January 13

 I didn't post anything yesterday.  That's not particularly unusual but the difference this time is that I don't feel guilty about it. Normally, if I fail to post something, I feel I have let the side down.  That's why some of my posts are absolute rubbish; I'm working on the basis that anything will do.  The important thing is to keep up the momentum, build up the numbers, keep the site ticking over.  But that's in the past.  From now on I'm going to aim for quality over quantity.

Or maybe not.  Do I have the strength to lift the energy level?  As my life is slowing down and my range of experiences is becoming narrower, how on earth can I hope to improve the quality?

The best I can do is to have an on-going aspiration to improve.  That's it; I'll make it my goal to improve.  I'll even make a sign to put on the front of my computer: 'Each day, in every way, my blog is getting better and better.'

That should fix it.


IS PROMOTION ALL THAT IT’S CRACKED UP TO BE?                          AUGUST 4, 2023 

There was a chart that Brian had drawn up when he was at school.  It was a sort of timeline setting out the milestones that Brian expected to achieve in his life, starting with ‘Leaving School’ at age 18, ‘Graduating from University’ at 22, ‘Marrying the Right Girl’ at 23, and so on.  There were also entries for his progress at work but they were a little less-defined, more of a statement of steps he would have to go through in his career: ‘Starting work’, ‘Getting promoted’, ‘Achieving financial stability’ and so on.

The important thing about this timeline was that it was flexible enough to be amended or added to as circumstances changed.  So, if Brian found himself, perhaps, with the opportunity of changing jobs to something more challenging, he could add a new element to his timeline.  Or, if his wife announced she was pregnant, he could build in his hopes and expectations for additions to the family.

One day his boss at the company where he worked took Brian aside and suggested they have a chat about his future.  He wanted to reassure Brian that he was a valued employee and that he was regarded as someone who could, one day, aspire to a senior role in management.  Brian pressed his boss to be a bit more specific.  Two years?  Three years?  How could he build this hope into his planning if he didn’t know when it might occur?

But the boss was not going to be pinned down.  ‘Keep your nose clean,’ Brian was told, ‘And we’ll look after you.”

It was frustrating for Brian who was very reliant on his timeline for reassurance but, as luck would have it, his immediate superior in the company, suffered a heart attack and had to take some time off.  To his delight, Brian was offered a promotion, starting immediately.  It never occurred to Brian that his promotion had come at the cost of a colleague’s good health and he neglected to even wish him well.

Brian spent some time bringing his timeline up to date and teasing out some potential future directions and knuckled down to his new job, assuming that it would be just a bit more of the same type of work that he had been doing for the past few years with just a slight increase in intensity.  He was shocked to find out, before too long, that he could not have been more wrong. 

After he had re-arranged his new office to better suit his needs, he was approached by one of the young women who helped with the secretarial work.  She had a complaint about another staff member whom she said was gossiping about her and making her life miserable.  Brian was taken aback.  How on earth did one deal with this sort of nonsense?  Writing himself a note in his diary, he put off having to sort it out to another day.

He had just settled down to his work when there was another knock on the door.  A male member of staff wanted to arrange a couple of days off to travel interstate to watch a football match.  A football match?  Where were his priorities?  Brian knew that company policy was that employees could ask for leave for anything which they regarded as important but, really, a football match!  Promising to get back to him, Brian scribbled a note to himself and settled back hoping to enjoy his new office at last.

But, it was not to be. 

There was another, rather tentative knock at the door.  It was Janet, one of the younger and newer employees.  She wondered whether it would be appropriate for her to bring in some of her home-baking to sell to her colleagues.  For goodness’s sake, Brian thought, and promised to give it some thought and get back to her.

Is this how it was going to be, he wondered?  Dealing with the trivia of everyone’s lives?  It wasn’t that he was concerned about making decisions but, surely, there was more to this promotion than that.

Another tentative knock at the door disturbed his thoughts.  Who would it be this time, he wondered – the janitor selling raffle tickets or someone wanting to set up a staff chess tournament.  It was, in fact, another of the male employees with a suggestion that it might be fun if one Friday each month was designated ‘Wear a Funny Hat to Work Day’.  He had the idea that this might help to boost staff morale.  Brian was at the stage of pulling out his hair.

There was another peremptory knock at the door and, without waiting for a response, someone walked in.  It was his boss.  “I’ve just popped in to see how you’re getting on,” he said, “And I was wondering whether you had any thoughts for changes to the work place.”

‘Only one suggestion,” said Brian.  “Find a new manager!  I quit.”