It's Election Night on Saturday, and I find myself at a loose end.
Election Night is one of my favourite nights. Yes, I am an election geek - you can find me checking in the results of the British and American elections when they occur, but my favourite night of all is the night of the Australian Federal Election.
It's like it's sport.
On Election Night, I like to try and find a friend to watch the telly with. Somebody who's as much of an Election geek as I am. Somebody who also shares my somewhat noisy politics and who will yell along with me, while imbibing a gin and tonic and eating bad food. To me, this is stellar entertainment, but I realise that it's not everybody's cup of tea
Last time, three years ago, I went down to Brighton to join KiKi, one of my writing retreat mates. We had a great time eating cheese and sniggering at Tim Wilson, who was ousted from her electorate (May that continue). We had a great night. KiKi was a bit bemused by my strange political knowledge of the Australian political scene.
The election before that I was round at a friend's place in Reservoir. The result wasn't what we wanted. But we did the same thing. Beer. Pizza. Shouting at the telly.
It's all a bit Don's Party.
So, this election, I got in touch with KiKi again to see if she wanted to come over and watch the election. This was a few weeks ago. The other day she got in contact, and she has more pressing plans. And okay, I get it, but I was looking forward to spending Election Night with her, shouting and carping and carrying on.
On Saturday afternoon, I've got a barbeque at Blarney and Barney's place. I can't stay there. As much as I love my best mate, I'm not going to watch the election coverage with her. She'd do my head in. And besides, it's a privilege to see my Election Night persona. Blarney doesn't need to see it (and their friend's, although very nice, are on the other side of the ditch to me politically - no need to stir the pot.)
I remember the night Kevin Rudd got in. The bloke I was seeing came over. I remember clearly what I was doing when John Howard lost his seat. There were more than one reason to be screaming.
In fact, I have a bit of form getting lucky on election night.
Regardless, that was then, and this is now and I'm in my 50's and should not be so crass and be thinking about such things.
I just know that Mr Second date intimated that we might go for a third date, but I don't think showing him me in my Election Night persona is a healthy thing for anybody concerned. I mean, surely, he does not want to see me in my fully-fledged, noisy, horny, leftie madness shouting at the telly and waiting for Antony Greene to show his face. (I flick between broadcasts, but normally stick to the ABC - Channel Nine is threatening Peter Credlin - the only thing fun about her is watching her face as the Liberals go into freefall).
Anybody want to come over and watch the election with me? I'll bring good snacks. I've got lots of gin. And it's a giggle. It would be more of a giggle if it wasn't so serious.
This went on. I was trying to get some work done, but every five minutes or so somebody (read small black house demon) was coming up, sticking his claws into my leg and demanding dinner.
I fed him his wet food at 5.30 p.m. after having enough of his histrionics.
Ten minutes later:
Lucifer: I want some treats.
Pand: You've just had your dinner.
Lucifer: But I want treats!
Pand: But I don't have any. I'll get some when I do the food shopping after the gym.
Lucifer: But I want some treats!
Pand: I can't give you anything I don't have.
Lucifer: You're a bad mother. I want treats.
Pand: Sweetie, you've just had your dinner.
Lucifer: But I want treats. NOW!
Is this what it's like to be a parent? If so, I didn't sign up for it.
Postscript: I purchased some cat treats, the ones he really likes (Fussy Cat Crunchers) and got home. I found him asleep under his blanket. The treats, it seems were forgotten.
Steve Coogan can be a bit of a polarising figure. Love him or hate him, I'm enjoying his straight roles. A lot of them are rather self-deprecating loners looking for a connection. Surprise, surprise, we find this sort of character in The Penguin Lessons. But this is not a bad thing.
Coogan plays Tom Michell, an English teacher contracted to a posh boy's school in Buenos Aires in 1976 and the height of the military junta. Michell wants to stay out of everything and just do his job. His principal, Tim Buckle (Jonathan Pryce) demands he keep an orderly existence. No noise, no mess, no pets.
When Michell and his colleague Tapio (Björn Gustafsson) take a holiday to Uruguay to get away from the military coup for a week, in his frivolities, he discovers a live penguin in an oil slick.
Tom takes the penguin back to school with him and hides him out in his room. And here's where the fun begins and the lessons are learned. It's amazing what group of 14-year-old boys will do to get to play with a penguin. It's a well-known fact that there are very few redeeming features to adolescent youth, but Juan Salvador, the penguin, helps to bring out the good in all of them. As the movie goes on, we learn about the circumstances of Michell and many of the staff and boys, all of this within the backdrop of the military coup, where people are plucked off the street and disappears with no warning.
As films go, this is a lot of lightweight fun, Coogan's sarcasm muting the serious events which are going on past the school's gates. This lacks the gravitas of films like I'm Still Here or The Secret in Their Eyes (the decent Argentinian one, not the awful American remake) yet it's still a very entertaining hour an a half. You could take an older child along and they might enjoy it. Yes, there's a little bit of swearing, but the violence is muted.
In all, this was a nice diversion based on a true story. It's light. It's fun. There's a penguin, who's very cute. What more do you want in a gentle Saturday afternoon film?
I'm getting the Sunday questions out of the way early as my breakfast settles and before I head down the gym. I have no idea who Gale is.
Questions, as before, have been supplied by Sunday Stealing.
1. What's the most daring thing you've ever done? Did it take physical or emotional courage?
Does living as an illegal immigrant in England for six years count something courageous? It was pretty daring. It was also probably in hindsight, pretty stupid. This took emotional courage. I was living where I wanted to live, living a life I wanted to live. If things were different, I think I would still be over in England.
2. Where did you meet the love of your life?
I’m not sure though I’ve ever had a love of my life.
I’ve had some loves. One was my penpal. One I met at work. One I met through a friend. Another was love at first sight at work.
But I’ve never had a real significant long-term other. This is okay.
3. What brand/flavor of coffee are you drinking these days?
My standard coffee order is an almond decaf latte. Normally a large one, or occasionally an iced one. As long as it’s not Starbucks, I don’t really care what coffee it is. Australia has some of the best coffee in the world.
4. What's the coolest place you've ever visited and how did you get there (car, plane, motorcycle, etc.)?
I’m very lucky, I have travelled the world.I’ve been to many amazing places. These include:
New York City and Boston
I’ve seen around the back of Westminster Abbey
The Scottish Highlands are miraculous
Mataranka and Nitmiluk (Katherine) Gorge in the Northern Territory of Australia are spectacular.
I’ve loved wandering around Hong Kong and Bangkok
Ubud In Bali is fantastic.
Paris is very cool, and I can’t wait to get back there again in September.
Toledo in Spain is somewhere where I spiritually align.
The Great Ocean Road is magnificent.
And I’ve been around the Greek islands. They are wonderful.
I’m a very fortunate person. This list could go on forever.
5. What's the best concert you ever attended?
There are two concerts that come to mind. David Byrne at the Brixton Academy in 1993 and then again, David Byrne in his American Utopia tour in Melbourne in 2019.
Both of these were absolutely magnificent.
I’ve seen a number of The Pixies concerts which were fantastic too.
As time marches on and progress takes over, some things fall out of fashion. Like video recorders, rotary phones, the walkman, the mangle...
Something else that appears to be going by the wayside.
The fluourescent tube.
Fluoro tube, that most hated form of lighting appears to be on the way out? How you ask? Have you ever tried to find one in the shops?
Coles? Don't stock them.
Big W/KMart - nup.
Bunnings? Of course, Bunnings have them, but if you're looking online, they're saying they cost around $30-40 dollars.
Mitre 10? They don't stock them. But on calling them, they said go to the specialty lighting shop to get one. Rexels or Middendorps might have them.
For a bloody fluoro tube.
I girded my loins, grabbing the old tube, knowing it's easier to say "I want one of these, please," rather than be castigated for saying, "I want a fluoro tube, please," then have no idea what you're asking for.
The people at Rexel were lovely. And appreciative that I brought the old one in. I got some help. The tube, in the end, only cost around seven dollars.
They made mention that fluoro tubes were getting harder and harder to find. That just blows my mind.
I can see them disappearing completely - I mean, every hospital, workplace and public space appears to have them, but it still feels strange to think that they're hard to find.
I made my way to the Abbotsford Convent to put my vote in for the Federal Election.
Before you ask, I have habitually voted early in State and Federal elections. I know where my vote is going, I don't like being hassled by the people handing out how to vote cards and I don't need a sausage.
Besides, the Abbotsford Convent is a gorgeous place. It's strangely peaceful for a place that used to be a girl's school and a place where unwed mothers went to have their children.
The lines for early voting were long, but convivial and orderly. The wait wasn't that long. There were lots of dogs to say hello to. There were only a handful of people handing out how to vote cards at the front of the convent. They seemed to be having an enjoyable time. It made for a difference seeing some of the unrest they're having in some electorates. In Kooyong, just across the river, there's been a number of spats. It's horrible. I refrained from wearing my 'Typical Bloody Leftie" t-shirt as not to inflame people.
It was a nice way to spend my lunch time.
On the way out, I was trying to remember the last time I was here. I love the space and gardens.
And then I looked up. A wayward saint was keeping an eye on proceedings.
It then came to me my last visit to this wonderful place.
Anney's funeral. 2019. Six years ago.
I was sent on another journey of nostalgia. Strangely, I could feel her presence. There's nothing unusual about that. I feel her energies around the place regularly. It was nice to feel her about again.
I went online to have a look at how I was going to get home from this holiday.
It was awful.
I've got my flights over to England. 55000 frequent flyer points and $250. Bargain. That I'm going through the United States - okay, not thrilled about this, but I'm okay with making sure all of my ducks are in a row, deleting social media off my phone and being contrite through customs.
But getting back!
The average cost of a ticket back from Europe? $2000. One way.
Yep, $2000.
Which, for the last couple of decades has been the average price of a return ticket to Europe.
If you look around the internet, you can find ones for around $1700. There is the Air India flight which comes in at $1000, which takes you through Delhi. Umm, sorry, but no.
It looks like I've had my decision made for me. I'll be cutting the trip a few days short and staying in Paris. I can go out to Versailles and Giverny. I can roam the streets for a few days. And I'll be coming home for the weekend.
