Four . .there's a Roo on My Fairway

Apologies- lousy upload speed means Sunday's Sojourn is being posted late.

As you know, it's a year of weddings here at the homestead. My nephew is getting married on our property on the 4th of March and my brother who normally does very little around the house is in a frenzy of activity spreading bark, laying phase 3 power for the band and spruicing up every part of the garden except mine. It seems that as long as the view from the Marquee is fine, the rest can go to hell but hey, that's just him.


Meanwhile my own darling boy is getting married in July. Today the 'in laws' were taken for a tour of Riverside Oaks, a rather nice golf course and function venue near Windsor where I might add we've had many a delicious Mother's Day smorgasbord. We had the grand tour, a lovely lunch and the bonus of seeing kangaroos on the course. I know you probably think that they bound down Pitt Street in central Sydney on a regular basis and they're the next best thing to public transport, but actually seeing them in the wild is a bit of a trick. They're early risers and evening baskers and for an animal with such odd proportions, roos are amazingly invisible when they want to be. Anyway, it was a lovely day despite the overcast and muggy weather.


I'm very proud of these two. They're organising and paying for the whole shebang themselves. Why? Not sure. I guess they know I can't afford it, they're keen to tie the knot and also paying for it themselves gives them total control over everything. Thought you might like to share the venues just a few months before the big event.

View down the Hawesbury Valley from the Church

Where they're tying the knot

Hope it doesn't rain

Hawkesbury Flood plains

The chosen venue for the reception

The Lodge . $1500 for 30 peeps if we can get them to commit

Nobody walks on this course

Mother and daughter, this is where the Bridal Table will be

Lunch on the verandah

Can you see them?

Just off the 15th Green . , . they still give me a thrill

And on the driving range .  "Hey, this is a golf course, wankers!"

The beauty of this afternoon is that these guys are only 20minutes from a really built up area. Lovely to see them invading the golf course and all are totally wild, clearly couch tastes great. I never realised they'd be so close to home. Not one, not two but three or four mobs of Eastern Greys enjoying the labours of the greenkeepers.

Friday Fuckwit The Bitch is Back

I nearly posted this a couple of months ago when I read about it. Some nutter who decided it would be a good idea to have a camera installed in the back of his head to record a year of his life  . . from behind which is an interesting concept. Anyway, apparently it didn't go quite according to plan:

Poor old Wafaa Bilal (which is interesting because I work with a Wafaa and she's a girl). Anyway his 'third eye' which was to record everything he did over the next year (well everything going on behind his back) caused something of a headache. The device was rejected by his body. My father would call this a perfect example of 'no brains, all intelligence' and oh boy have I met a few like that.

Wafaa Bilal, assistant arts professor at New York University, experienced severe and constant pain, despite treatment with steroids and antibiotics. To be precise, it wasn't the camera itself he had implanted, but rather three posts and a titanium base to hold the actual camera. Bilal had the base and one of the posts removed.
He hasn't given up on the project, though. 

Bilal plans on revisiting the project with a different set of equipment when the wounds from his surgery heal. It's unclear what that means, but it might mean a lighter camera or different materials for the implant.

Is his life really that interesting? Save it for the movies Bilal!

Oh and a bonus Fuckwit:

My dog went missing on Wednesday even though I'm sure she was just through the paddock fence snoofing rabbits and on Brighton Avenue. Some darling girlfriend of a boyfriend who lives in one of the MacMansions up the back took her home overnight and surrendered her the next day to Rooty Hill Veterinary Clinic about 30 kms away. Apparently her collar had become severed from her neck. Getting mighty clever that Miss Lily. So, thank you miss Do Gooder for rescuing my dawg but couldn't you have taken her to the vet down the road? No. I'm the fuckwit in this one. Bad dog owner. Bad containment. Bad everything. Although for a while there I was thinking of buying a cat. The dog is fine and has clearly been over fed given the audible farts and bloating evident this evening.



Have a lovely weekend punters. Three chapters to go on this stupid writing challenge (with no prize) and I'll be back like a blister from a pair of new shoes.  That was rather good, just made that up. Happy weekend.

Whah? I din''t do nuthin'. She made me eat Meatybites and sit on the back seat? Whah?

Mnemosyne Mad

Sorry for the crappy posting lately but I've got myself embroiled in this writing challenge thingy where a load of ratbags post up 9 topics and you have to write a continuous narrative or post a continuous creative piece with a narrative and just 14 days to finish the thing. That in itself isn't too bad but the muses are ridiculous and the competition challenging. I guess that's why it's called the River of Mnemosyne Challenge not the River of Mnemosyne Liesure Swim. 


First, big fat apologies for not visiting as frequently as I should. I shall catch up.


Secondly, with work obligations, writing commitments and an exercise regime being sadly neglected, and probably, until I've got all my pieces up (five down, four to go) things will be a little dull at Baino's Banterage. Bear with me, I'll be back and I'm sure I'll have time to find a fuckwit by Friday, hey they're everywhere.


So make a cuppa, hit the link and see what you think of the crazies knocking themselves out on this one. I've so far managed to cope with Deep Sleep, Deep Space, Deep Shit - Reluctant Titans - Fuck Origami - En Plein Air and The Faint Hint of Ambergris. What I'm going to do with Space Illiad and the remaining topics, only my muse knows:

"So who are he crazy nits that came up with "Fuck Origami" and "Space Illiad" hmm? Hmmm?"

Yep, looks like I feel right now!

And there isn't even a prize! Go figure!

Sunshine Sweat and a Southerly Buster

It's been hot in Sydney, very hot. Eight consecutive days of high 30's and low 40's. Frankly it's been exhausting. Queensland's had floods and a cyclone bigger than Katrina now WA is in the grip of Bushfires so I guess we were lucky to have nothing more than debilitating heat. I washed my curtains on Saturday and they dried in 20 minutes! So today, in an effort to escape the oppressive heat and humidity, we picnicked at Lavender Bay with the Groovy Grannies and my sister in law and a couple of cousins. It was a stinker until finally, the southerly buster came in and cooled things off. Tonight, I may sleep all night. 

Picnic Spot in the Shade of a  Moreton Bay Fig

40 degree humidity on Lavendar Bay

Boy and his esky

Clare on the Champagne Trail

Chicken and Pasta Salad Roll

Here Comes the Southerly and Instant Relief

Windswept and interesting

Heading Home Before the Rain

Cousins Chillin' on the Verandah

Good Times

Friday Fuckwit and the Botty Burp

Apparently the average person breaks wind 20-40 times a day. (Not me of course, only sun shines out of my ass).  It's a fact of life, we all succumb to botty burps, squeezing the cheese, passing wind, indulging in a little morning thunder, stepping on a toad, cutting loose, pooting, pumping, trumping, parping and biffing. Of course there is etiquette to be observed and after witnessing my second webcam indiscretion this week (he could do with paying a little attention to the rules), apparently these are they:

Gentlemen should accept blame when in the presence of a lady who accidentally let's one rip. Although it's also appropriate to blame the dog

You can also pass a disapproving glance toward some innocent and silently accuse them of the misdemeanour

Never admit to smelling it first. The old adage 'dogs smell their own dirt first' is true.

Never fart in a lift

Never pull anyone's finger if asked 

If caught, turn the wrongdoing into a point of price. Declare it a necessary act, note that you're feeling 'much better' now, apologise and move on.

Hope to God you don't have to emigrate to Malawi:

Mail Onine
Last updated at 10:36 AM on 28th January 2011

The government of Malawi, led by Dr Bingu wa Mutharika, are planning to outlaw breaking wind.  The plan is to punish persistent offenders 'who foul the air' in a bid to 'mould responsible and disciplined citizens.'  But locals fear that pinning responsibility on the crime will be difficult - and may lead to miscarriages of justice as 'criminals' attempt to blame others for their offence.

One Malawian told the website Africanews.com: 'My goodness. What happens in a public place where a group is gathered. Do they lock up half a minibus? And how about at meetings where it is difficult to pinpoint 'culprits'? Children will openly deny having passed bad air and point at an elder. Culturally, this is very embarrassing,' she said.

Another said: 'We have serious issues affecting Malawians today. I do not know how fouling the air should take priority over regulating Chinese investments which do not employ locals, serious graft amongst legislators, especially those in the ruling party, and many more.'

The crime will be enforceable in a new 'Local Court' system which will also have powers to punish a range of other crimes in the bill set to be debated in the country's parliament. These include insulting the modesty of a woman, challenging to fight a duel, and trespassing on a burial place. It also outlaws pretending to be a fortune teller

Well I never! Better not let Adam holiday there, I'll never see him again.

Have a wonderful weekend, this one couldn't come fast enough for me. The weather's stinkin' but it's easier to deal with when you're in a pool.

Ab Fab Sunday

Gorgeous doesn't begin to describe this weekend. Hot, breezy, sunny. I was to have gone to a friend's place on Saturday night to meet up with an old school buddy who's up from Tasmania but when I tried to confirm, the phone wasn't answered. She lives in Avalon on the Barrenjoey Penninsular about an hour and fifteen minutes from me so I wasn't going to turn up on the off chance.  All dressed up and nowhere to go, I put on my comfies and relaxed at home. Anyway, turns out the gig did happen and I received a message at 2am this morning to come over 'today'. So, willing to catch up with John from Tassie and share a bevvy with Steve and Ros, I mosied over to Avalon Beach with 200,000 other Sydneysiders who decided that the last weekend before school goes back would be a good day to visit the seaside.


All in all, a lovely day. Al fresco lunch on the balcony, a walk down to the rock pool for sun and a swim and a few drinks before heading home. Sadly, I forgot to take my camera so these are from the iPhone. Not the best but show you the best. Hope these warm up some of you who are freezing in the northern hemisphere. We're in for a couple more super hot days this week so I'm quite grateful to have the aircon at work:

View from My Friend's Balcony

The Back Yard

Avalon Beach from the Southern Headland

Avalon Beach

The Rock Pool

Looking SouthFrom the Rockpool

Tessilated Pavement for Jeffscape (Love it when I know something he doesn't)

Tassie John and Son James who 'said' he could swim!

You know the great thing about living here, isn't the culture, there's very little. The wildlife is great but hard to find . . it's the lifestyle. Absolutely fabulous.

Well you all know I'm partial to a glass of Semillon or Chardy but I never drink and drive.


A Darwin man who insisted police breath test him to prove to his boss that he was not drunk has been arrested for drink driving.  Police say the 34 year old delivery driver was sacked on Australia Day morning, when his boss accused him of being drunk on the job.  Duty Superintendent Louise Jorgensen says he then turned up at a police station demanding a breath test, at the suggestion of his union.
"We advised him that we didn't want to get involved in a civil dispute between him and his employer," Duty Superintendent Jorgensen said.

"Anyway he insisted that he have a breath test. He had actually driven to the police station.
"That breath test proved positive and he was arrested for drink driving. "He was subject to a breath analysis and the breath analysis resulted in a reading of 0.53 per cent which is just above the legal limit.
"When we conducted investigations into his driver's licence we found that it had been suspended in December." Police say his licence had been cancelled by the Fines Recovery Unit.


Twat.


Weekend is here again. Weather's steamy the men are not. Out and about tomorrow night so keep your finger's crossed. Have an awesome weekend.  Mine's spent preparing an entry on  Jesus knows what for a nine part challenge on The Tenth Daughter of Memory.   

If you're up to it . . party hard or go home.

Sorry the vid's not totally relevant but who doesn't like Den?

Booze, Bubbles and Too Much Heat

 Well yesterday was "Australia Day" a public holiday bang smack in the middle of the week which I hate. I'd much rather a long weekend. The day marks James Cook's 'discovery' and is also known as 'Invasion Day' to our indigenous folk but frankly we just have fun. I'll post some other time about the injustice of colonialism and the pathetic way we treated our indigenous  population. But frankly, it was 42 in the shade and all we wanted to do was keep cool. It also happens to be one of our fave radio station's count downs of the top 100 hits of the year so the music was awesome:

Under the shade of a Coolibah Tree? (actually it's a Carob)

Shady haze, sombrero and an esky or 'chully bun' depending where you come from

Lilo, beer, lounge . . hey tough job but someone has to to id

Lily loves Westy and Westy clearly is fond of Lily

Mobile music is essential

Backyard golf. Balls in the rough

Can't cook but can play pool

Wii Dance and yes we made them do Pussy Cat Dolls

Spalaxin'

 

Slip n Slide

Soap gets in your eyes

And in your pool

Only drunks erect a beach umbrella at 10pm (nah it has LED lights0

 

And it all ends in a kind of warm and fuzzy glow

 

 

So who won: Brother and Sister combo Angus and Julia Stone  -  No my choice but has resonance. Although if anyone has ever smelled daisies . .

         

Friday Suckwit

NB: I forgot to post it, sitting in edit all weekend GAH!

Well after a week of angst, tantrums, worry and stress, floods in Queensland and Victoria, server hassles at work and my swimming pool going green overnight - I think we could all do with a little  lovin' down under - er no that didn't sound right but . .whatever you're partial to, a passionate moment can lead to big trouble: 

 A woman was temporarily partially paralysed by a love bite on her neck from her amorous partner, doctors reported in the New Zealand Medical Journal.

The 44-year-old New Zealand woman went to the emergency department of Middlemore Hospital in Auckland last year after experiencing loss of movement in her left arm while watching television.
Doctors concluded the woman had suffered a mild stroke but were puzzled about its cause until they found a small vertical bruise on her neck - a love bite or hickey - near a major artery.

She had received the love bite a few days earlier.
"Because it was a love bite there would be a lot of suction," one of the doctors who treated her, Teddy Wu, told the Christchurch Press.

"Because of the physical trauma it had made a bit of bruising inside the vessel. There was a clot in the artery underneath where the hickey was."
Dr Wu says the clot dislodged and travelled to the woman's heart where it caused a minor stroke that led to the loss of movement.

"We looked around the medical literature and that example of having a love bite causing something like that hasn't been described before," he said.

The medic said the woman recovered after being treated with an anti-coagulant.

And you thought falling into the gutter was dangerous! So my darlings, if you're up for a bit of suction action make sure you're gentle wherever you put your kisser. Have a wonderful weekend. That pool had better be crystal by the morning, we're in for a hottie.

Pass me a Fucking Baguette

I had the stitches taken out of my eyebrow some weeks ago $52. I'll get most back on Medicare of course (our socialised health system) but it did strike me as an awful lot of money for five snips of a scalpel and a little tug. No pun intended.  Then there was the ambulance $640 for a 20 minute ride with a hot ambo that I was too drunk to flirt with effectively. despite trying. Again the Health Fund will cover it.

I threatened to Clare and Jeffscape that I was going to take the stitches out myself and both berated me no end. I've done it before, hey the wound's healed it doesn't hurt but no, I was pressured into doing the right thing and going to the Doctor at great expense to have them removed.

Which got me thinking about pressure. The sort of pressure exerted on you by people you love and how you compromise your own decisions in favour of their influence.  I thought I was over that. Being influenced by others but clearly I'm not.

Someone says "You should . . ." or as is more frequent these days "You shouldn't . ." I still acquiesce. It's taken me a long time to revolt against that and I still succumb now and then.

Yet dare I suggest that someone else 'should' or 'shouldn't' invariably I'm met with resistance. What's the story there? Are we creatures built on giving advice whether it's good or bad. I've given plenty in my time, rarely is it acted upon so what makes one person more influential over another, or one person cave in against their better judgement.

I am not the person I used to be. I don't have the confidence, the trust, that I used to have and it's turning me into someone a little fearful. I am negative and think the worst. I drive people crazy with my worrying. Then I worry people sick with my recklessness. I am a contradiction in terms.  I tread on eggshells with bastards and I protest to much against the gentle.

Tell me the truth gracefully, point out my faults gently, but praise my attributes honestly. Be my friend. Friends are supposed to put up with the good and bad in each other without recrimination. I am what I am, which is mostly the reason you're my friend in the first place.

I guess life experiences aren't strengthening my resolve as much as I thought they would. I don't like it. I don't like being who I am at the moment. Needy, worried, cautious, afraid, then the upside is I'm more understanding, forgiving, loyal. Does there always have to be a trade-off.  I was so buoyed and happy last month.  Not so much this month and it's all in my over-thinking head. Or is it? My kid's left home, which I think I'm fine with. My closest online friend is having an 'episode' which I understand but am not particularly fine with.

I think I have the answer. I am too good at building up hope. Hope is a wasted emotion, it's like jealousy, destructive and rarely ends up well. I hope I sell this stupid block. I hope I will meet this wonderful person. I hope my kids will always be there for me. I hope my finances will improve. I hope that clunk in my transmission isn't anything serious.

So if I annoy you, do things you don't like or appreciate, I'm sorry. It's usually because I'm either having a hedonistic moment or I care about you. Take your pick.

Although 99.9% of the time, it's because I care. Oh pass me a fucking baguette.

Me in my Happy Place - Florence, October 2010

OK Tomorrow it's the Friday Fuckwit so I'll lighten up.

I've never thought much about 'mental health' seems like a bit of an oxymoron to me but I've been reading quite a lot lately about depression and bi-polar disorders since the symptoms really fit a friend of mine.

Strange, I read that 1 in 7 people have depression or bi polar. I remember feeling very depressed just after I lost my job in 2008. Tears, lethargy, worthlessness and I ticked all the boxes on those online questionnaires. Clare said "Mum, you're not depressed, you're just sad and it will pass." She was right, I was sad. Probably for about a year and it did pass. So how do you tell the difference between the disease and sadness? Worse still, how do you get someone to recognise their symptoms and do something about it?

The symptoms of a major depressive episode include:

1. depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, as indicated by either subjective report (e.g., feels sad or empty) or observation made by others (definitely evident at the moment)
2. markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day (as indicated by either subjective report or observation made by others)
3. significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain (e.g., a change of more than 5% of body weight in a month), a decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day. 
4. insomnia or hypersomnia nearly every day
5. psychomotor agitation or retardation nearly every day
6. fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day
7. feelings of worthlessness or inappropriate guilt (which may be delusional) nearly every day (not merely self-reproach or guilt about being sick)
8. diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day (either by subjective account or as observed by others)
9. recurrent thoughts of death (not just fear of dying), recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide
10. Sexual interest, appetite, and general interest rapidly drops. Stops answering the phone, stops visiting friends/relatives, stays secluded.

Criteria: Five (or more) of the symptoms have been present during the same 2-week period and represent a change from previous functioning; at least one of the symptoms is either (1) depressed mood or (2) loss of interest or pleasure.


This is from a reputable psychiatric site, not just a 'mood' questionnaire. Apparently most 'depressed' people are taken to their doctor or therapist or both by friends and family.  I hope my friend's family have the stamina to take that step.  I'm too far away to be of use on that level and it tears me apart.

How were you persuaded to seek medical help?

Drowning My Sorrows with Possums and Cosmopolitans

I don't know why but a friend, a dear friend, gave me something very special today. His blog. He closed it on the 13th and gave me access. Why I don't know. A parting gift? I hope not, I hope that in time he'll come back. 


The free concert last night did not happen. I seemed to be in a well of tears and looking through a fog all day for reasons not necessary to explain here, until Clare, clearly upset to see me in such a state, invited me over and we drowned my sorrows. I sobbed, she and her lovely flatmate talked and drank. My desolate feelings overcome, intermittently and temporarily, by copious amounts of numbing white wine.

Apologies to Kylie who called me late to see where the Hell I was.  I'd arranged to meet her at Los Lobos Latin night in the Domain but it was raining at the time we intended to go and with all the drama I was feeling . . well I just didn't fancy Latin beats and a Festival atmosphere.  Kyles we'll do lunch, soon, I promise. I thought about a blog sabbatical and taking a break because I feel so numb.


So, how does one temporarily subdue feelings of grief and loss:

Liked the name

Gomes held reservations

Sex in the City - Cosmopolitans of course

Not for me but they looked pretty

Evening Visitor

The lure of mango

Tame enough to touch. This is the first time apparently.

Breakfast with champions

If you're reading my sweet Prince. You are missed and loved by more than me, so please, get in touch.

Friday Fuckwit

YEP folks, the silly season is over and we're back to normal programming and in the interest of being a better blogger her for your elucidation and humoration is the first of 2011's Friday Fuckwits:

The Saudis have very ruffled feathers after catching yet another spy on their protected soil. The cloak-and-dagger apprehension of Saudi Arabian security agents have them claiming to have brought down a high-flying spy, code-named R65.

The officials are accusing Israel of sending a specially trained vulture into their airspace near the city of Hayel. The feathered operative apparently made locals nervous by looking down on them last week. (I'd have been more nervous about what might be 'reigning' down if you know what I mean.) When captured, the bird was found with a GPS transmitter and tag with the number R65 from Tel Aviv University stamped on it.

Suspecting a clever Zionist plot, officials locked the bird up. Researchers in Israel say the bird is just a normal vulture, and part of an innocent long-term study. But it’s not the first accusation of suspected animal agents being sent off to do dirty work on foreign soil.
When tourists near the coastal resort of Sharm el Sheikh were attacked by a shark late last year, one Egyptian official reportedly suggested the biting menace might be an Israeli-trained provocateur.

And spy birds are nothing new to the world of spooks and watchers. In 1940, British covert operatives were involved in a battle of the skies, by training peregrine falcons to take down Nazi-trained homing pigeons.

It's a jungle out there! 

Have an awesome weekend folks. We're turning into Culture Vultures and off to the Sydney Festival Latino Night, Los Lobos and some Apero if the weather holds! Ole!

The Blind Man Who Didn't Bluff

So, I kid you not. I’m walking down the Metro Raumier stairwell on St Sebastopol in Paris, loaded up with bags of Apero and Rose from  MonoPrix and heading back to our apartment. I’m focussing on the gazillion steps with a bung knee and dodging the peak hour crowds to avoid spillage of the bag contents which include le saucisson, pate fois gras,  a rather nice sock-smelly Cambembert, corcherons and two still warm and yeasty smelling baguettes. I also need to ensure that the chilled and succulent bargain-basement bottles of Rose stay nestled in their now slightly-tearing extruded plastic bag.  Oh the guilt I feel for not having the foresight to bring my green bags. Shit that bread smells good.

I’m teetering down the steps against the crowd with one heavy bag in each hand. My camera bag slung over shoulder with the solid bit bashing into the small of my back and banging uncomfortably just above my bum. I’ve come down the steps on the right, against the wall and now wedged in a rather familiarly urine stenched corner, squished by the outpouring of peak hour bodies surging upwards towards the surface.  I have about three more steps down before I hit the platform and everything begins to roll in slow motion.

And I mean slow. Keanu bullet-dodging slow. Watch the replay of that googly bowl by Ricky Ponting slow.  Like a fly watching a human hand trying to swat it slow. Take that you fetid little insect and you know all the time he’s sitting there yelling “Is that all you’ve got you biotch . . hit me!” Before the little buzzy bastard pisses off and leaves you smacking some unsuspecting appendage with a sting. Yeh, that kind of slow. Yeh, like that.

Noise slows down like it’s being played on a vinyl LP just after the power’s gone and it’s grinding to a halt. The fabric of everyone’s garments ripples languidly but discernably, trains glide in and out with a serenede of muted screeching and then he comes into the frame. A blind man with one of those extra long guide sticks with a big red knobbly thing on the end of it.

He’s short, wearing dark glasses which always strikes me as hilarious, “Hey dude, you’re blind, you don’t need the shades!” He’s wearing a black three-quarter winter coat which is also weird because it’s hot as hell down here and humid as a whore’s underwear.  Do whore’s wear underwear? Perhaps that’s not a great analogy. Then I get to thinking, well he’s blind, maybe he didn’t realise what he was wearing. I mean I have friends who look like they get dressed in the dark and they’ve got 20/20 happening.  Anyway he’s walking normal speed right. Cane outstretched, swinging wildly from side to side, working that red knobby thing.

Now I’m still moving when I see the cane sweeping the pathway as if he’s wielding a machete in a corn field or a scythe in a hay meadow, scanning for gold or detecting landmines, this man’s on a mission. I’m thinking, get out of the way, jump that thing but hey, the dude’s blind, I could knock the bastard over or worse do some damage to the Rose bottles so I just keep going, sure that he’s going to mark a target as big as me. Then, WHAM sure enough that thing cracks me fair and square on the side of the leg, and brings me down baby! Crumbling to my jetty stump knees on the cold tiles with a crash and a bottle of rose rolling menacingly towards the departing train.

Ok so the scene begins to speed up like my escaping bottle when a very nice man pulls me up to my feet, rather familiarly brushes my knees off. How very French I’m thinking as they have no concept of personal space but having your knees rubbed by a stranger is a little disconcerting. So before I actually told him to piss off and take his hands of me, he had the good grace to disappear into the crowd.

So now I’m on my feet, the train’s pulling away, no harm done to the shopping, the knees will live. No sign of the blind guy who has clearly had no problem navigating 75 steps in an overcoat at speed and without knocking anybody else over whilst swinging his knobby cane at a 180 degree angle in front of him. How rude. Not so much as a ‘pardon madame’. Bastard. I hope he gets run over by a bus.

Rather late Theme Thursday Post for "Stairs"

Weather Happens

In 1974 the Brisbane River broke it's banks and swamped the third largest city in Australia. Tonight, it's expected to peak again and the CBD is a ghost town. Boats are sailing tied to their dismembered pontoons down the river, ferry terminals ruined, riverside restaurants swamped and electricity supplies cut off in anticipation of a flood the size of Germany and France combined which is currently inundating the people of Queensland. Crops have been destroyed, townships are under water and I can barely imagine the mess left behind when the waters subside.


It's a serious thing indeed from the land of droughts and flooding rains. Budding reporters are putting their lives at risk (I wish) standing near raging rivers and spouting hyperbole about Global Warming. The media monsters love a disaster like none other and even our Government channel, the equivalent of the English BBC is going sappy on the whole thing.


I don't mean to denigrate what's happening 127,000 homes are affected, 12 are dead and many others living in makeshift shelters waiting for the waters to subside which won't happen, or so we are told, until the weekend. I have a a friend east of Brisbane who is hoping she won't be affected and another in Labrador on the Gold Coast who's headed home for a while just in case. It's a real disaster there is no question.


Australia is used to natural disasters and extreme weather. We've had 11 years of drought, hurricanes devastating crops, raging seas, levelling cyclones, grounded ships, hail the size of tennis balls. Recovery is always quick, action is taken and despite the devastation to individuals, things return to normal without the sensationalism of media.


Yet amid this, in the work lunchroom today I heard a conversation that disturbed me. A colleague is planning to drive to Noosa, a rather ritzy resort town on the mid Qld Coast next week, and is pissed off because the resort won't refund his money if the flood waters don't subside. It's not flooding at Noosa but the path there is a little soggy. "Why don't you fly?" I suggested (knowing that he's a wealthy man and can easily afford the fare. Not only that but he's driven before and also planned to drive straight through with an overnight in Brisbane so it's not like he's sightseeing on the way up. "Because we've planned to drive! We always drive".


I left the room before losing my temper. It's not anyone's fault. Weather happens.