There is a new routine to which we counterpoint our lives.
It involves waiting for the middle of the day presser held by our Premier, Dan Andrews.
You expect, and now hope, that the presser happens at 11 am. Dan turns up in front of the purple state government background, puts his mask on the podium and provides an update. He goes through the numbers, the number with the virus, the number of deaths. That's the first point of order. You wait with baited breath for these. It's almost like you're Madame Defarge, waiting for the heads to roll at the guillotine.
When the presser is held at 11 am - things are normally at the status quo. Things will be happening, numbers will be related. If he's wearing his North Face jacket, then there is no need to worry (or, as it has been pointed out, it's the weekend).
Wearing a suit jacket on the weekend - well that means everything's gone to shit and get ready to batten down the hatches. I don't think he's ever worn a tie to a presser. That would probably mean nuclear war...
Oh, and if you're lucky, you get to see Brett Sutton - the Chief Medical Officer. Brett was hot back in the day. Brett's not bad now - a bit of a silver fox with glorious eyes. Like Dan, he's straight down the line, compassionate yet straight talking. Whereas Dan does the disappointed Dad act, Brett can be seen to breathe and move on. Both men have to contain the eye rolls at Dorothy Dixer questions. But Brett is thinking woman's crumpet. God bless Dan. He's not crumpet. But he's a bloody good bloke in a crisis.
And you can't forget the sign language people, who do an awesome job (also having to make dry information both informative and entertaining for the deaf). There was this one screen grab which took the country by storm.
The later the presser, the worse the news. Oh, and if he's wearing a suit, really bad news.
Unfortunately, it is that predictable.
Mind you, how often to you take notice of what a male politician is wearing? (John Howard's eponymous track suit and Trump's insipid red tie outstanding)
Well, it's 3.15 when I'm penning these lines and I'm still waiting for Dan. Mind you, The Age website has the presser queued ready to go. But at 3.15, the gaggle of journalists sitting in their socially distanced rows are already baying for blood.
But it's 3.20. It's late in the day.
The news is going to be grim. Really grim.
Mind you, we sort of know what is coming - just not the granular detail, We know he's about to close down most of Melbourne retail. No shopping other than for food / essentials or if you can click and collect from a place (or get a delivery) then good. Glad I've stocked up on cat food.
3.25. He's just come to the screen. Ah, suit jacket, no tie. Bad news.
We're already under curfew. Supermarkets are shutting at 7.45 p.m. for the next six weeks. Mind you, you're not allowed out of the door between 8 pm and 5 pm so there's not much point having supermarkets open.
The other thing I like about Dan - he does this job with the right amount of gravitas, mixed with compassion. This is a man who hasn't caught a break in six months. He's probably running on four hours sleep - as he has been doing since the fires at New Years. He looks exhausted. He looks like a man whose words have just stood down a quarter of a million people.
I'm standing by him.
And like Madame Defarge at the guilllotine, I'll continue to wait for his epistles - hoping they come at 11 am.
In Melbourne, we used to be glued to the BOM site (Bureau of Meteorology). Never thought we'd be all waiting for Dan to talk.
These be strange times.
Today's song:
It involves waiting for the middle of the day presser held by our Premier, Dan Andrews.
You expect, and now hope, that the presser happens at 11 am. Dan turns up in front of the purple state government background, puts his mask on the podium and provides an update. He goes through the numbers, the number with the virus, the number of deaths. That's the first point of order. You wait with baited breath for these. It's almost like you're Madame Defarge, waiting for the heads to roll at the guillotine.
When the presser is held at 11 am - things are normally at the status quo. Things will be happening, numbers will be related. If he's wearing his North Face jacket, then there is no need to worry (or, as it has been pointed out, it's the weekend).
Wearing a suit jacket on the weekend - well that means everything's gone to shit and get ready to batten down the hatches. I don't think he's ever worn a tie to a presser. That would probably mean nuclear war...
Oh, and if you're lucky, you get to see Brett Sutton - the Chief Medical Officer. Brett was hot back in the day. Brett's not bad now - a bit of a silver fox with glorious eyes. Like Dan, he's straight down the line, compassionate yet straight talking. Whereas Dan does the disappointed Dad act, Brett can be seen to breathe and move on. Both men have to contain the eye rolls at Dorothy Dixer questions. But Brett is thinking woman's crumpet. God bless Dan. He's not crumpet. But he's a bloody good bloke in a crisis.
And you can't forget the sign language people, who do an awesome job (also having to make dry information both informative and entertaining for the deaf). There was this one screen grab which took the country by storm.
The later the presser, the worse the news. Oh, and if he's wearing a suit, really bad news.
Unfortunately, it is that predictable.
Mind you, how often to you take notice of what a male politician is wearing? (John Howard's eponymous track suit and Trump's insipid red tie outstanding)
Well, it's 3.15 when I'm penning these lines and I'm still waiting for Dan. Mind you, The Age website has the presser queued ready to go. But at 3.15, the gaggle of journalists sitting in their socially distanced rows are already baying for blood.
But it's 3.20. It's late in the day.
The news is going to be grim. Really grim.
Mind you, we sort of know what is coming - just not the granular detail, We know he's about to close down most of Melbourne retail. No shopping other than for food / essentials or if you can click and collect from a place (or get a delivery) then good. Glad I've stocked up on cat food.
3.25. He's just come to the screen. Ah, suit jacket, no tie. Bad news.
We're already under curfew. Supermarkets are shutting at 7.45 p.m. for the next six weeks. Mind you, you're not allowed out of the door between 8 pm and 5 pm so there's not much point having supermarkets open.
The other thing I like about Dan - he does this job with the right amount of gravitas, mixed with compassion. This is a man who hasn't caught a break in six months. He's probably running on four hours sleep - as he has been doing since the fires at New Years. He looks exhausted. He looks like a man whose words have just stood down a quarter of a million people.
I'm standing by him.
And like Madame Defarge at the guilllotine, I'll continue to wait for his epistles - hoping they come at 11 am.
In Melbourne, we used to be glued to the BOM site (Bureau of Meteorology). Never thought we'd be all waiting for Dan to talk.
These be strange times.
Today's song:
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