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’,
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