I've largely disconnected from news about the upcoming election because 1) I know how I'm voting and 2) if I have to see another Clive Palmer ad on the telly I'm going to throw a brick at it.
Also, remember that I can have noisy politics, but I'm trying to be restrained. Noisy politics can be boring for other people, of this I am very aware.
But I will say, yesterday, as I was in Caulfield, I really wish I had a texta / sharpie / permanent marker (whatever you want to call them).
You see, walking along Bambra Road, I spot this.
This man has a punchable face. His face is almost as punchable as Peter Dutton's.
Horrible human being.
But then there you go.
And this is not Blockers Road, Myponga in the 1980s where there are very few cars and you could quite happily deface Alexander Downer's election posters with cow dung or by draping fishnet stockings over them. This was pristine, well-to-do conservative Caulfield. In the middle of the day. You don't deface posters in the middle of the day on a busy road.
And, if you deface a LNP poster, like warts and grey hairs, three more will pop up in their place.
So, instead of throwing good money after bad and pouring coffee over dear old Dim Tim, I restrained myself. (Yes, I know that was the name for another Liberal politician, but he was in the State Government and then got booked for drunk driving after being on a crusade about government standards and he since has crawled back from under the rock from whence he came.)
Anyway, I'm going to do here what I wanted to do yesterday, but as I'm a good woman, I refrained.
Do you like this look?
Or this one?
Or this one?
Or, of course, there is the gold standard in defacing political posters.
But I'm a grown up.
I don't deface political posters anymore.
(Thankfully, I'm not in the electorate of Goldstein. If I was I'd be handing out how to vote cards for the standing Teal member. She's grouse. Not some middle-aged white dude with delusions of grandeur.)
I'll get these out of the way early, all the while packing for tomorrow night's trip back to Darwin. The cat has been deposited at his second home (where he is loved and has found a place in the cupboard, where he seems to like to sit) and my place feels very empty. Never to mind, I'll be back in a week.
Questions have been supplied, as always, by the Sunday Stealing site.
1) What's the longest you've gone without sleep?
About 24 hours. That was a long time ago. Thankfully I can function on only a little sleep, as I will be proving on Monday when I get into Darwin at 1.30 in the morning, then being due at work around 8 a.m. What fun!
2) What was the highlight of your last week?
Last week was a pretty unremarkable week. I got some cuddles off my cat. That was nice. I've been gently chatting to a fellow on the apps. That was nice. Work wise, I got a handful of documents we're been working on through all of the checks and balances. That felt good. And I went to the gym a couple of times. It was a quiet sort of week.
3) You have to give a 10-minute speech to a group of high school students. What's your topic?
I think it would have a title of something like. "You're not going to listen to me, but back yourself, and start doing it now." It would be a lesson in resilience.
4) What is the single best decision you've ever made in your life?
That would be moving to England in 1991. It formed how I live my life. And I grew up very quickly.
5) If you could ask a coworker, friend or family member a question and be guaranteed an honest answer, who would you choose and what would you ask?
I really have no idea about this one. It is no business of mine what other people think of me. It took me a long time to work this one out and I don't want to go back.
If I had to ask anything, it would probably be something superficial like, "Does my bum look big in this?" or "Is my hair looking okay from the back?"
6) Do you cook for yourself when you're home alone?
Yes. Normally simple stuff, but I do cook for myself. I live with a cat. He's not going to cook for me.
7) Do you most often access the internet from your computer, your phone, or your smart watch?
I'd say that I access the internet about the same on my phone and laptop. Depends where I am and what I'm doing. I can't access the internet from my watch, other than a few basic apps. (e.g. the weather and a bit of music.)
8) Do you have more email addresses or phone numbers?
Although I have two phone numbers, there isn't a phone attached to the landline, so really, I have one functioning phone.
I've got about four working emails, five if you count my work email. There's the one that gets the most traffic, an old Hotmail account, my writerly ID gmail account and one I use for anonymously stalking people under another name. The last one rarely gets used, but it's good for covering your tracks.
9) What's the biggest source of anger in your life right now?
There's one situation, but I'm not going to talk about that here.
The situation with the Trump Administration makes my blood boil - and I'm not even American. We have an election in a month and seeing Clive Palmer on the telly all the time makes me want to throw bricks at him. He's a multi-millionaire who wants Australia to mimic America and the autocratic rule we're seeing at the moment. We see through him.
Oh, and for those interested, with our elections in Australia:
Voting is compulsory. You get fined if you don't show up. You don't have to actually vote, but you need to get your name marked off. There is nothing stopping you writing "Mickey Mouse for Prez" on your ballot paper and leaving it at that.
Voting is done by pen and paper.
We only vote for whichever part is up for election at the time (Federal, State and Local elections are completely separate)
We don't vote for things like judges, dog catchers, school boards etc.
Voting is done on a proportional representational basis.
We have an Upper and Lower House - think Congress and House of Representatives.
Our Senators have an eight-year term. The House of Representatives are elected every three years.
At every election there are a multitude of scrutineers overseeing the count. None of these voting machines. Pen and paper all the way. Normally the scrutineers come from the three major parties.
Generally, you don't have to show your ID to vote, though they can ask for ID if they so wish.
To change the Constitution, they have to hold a referendum, For a referendum to be successful and the alteration to the constitution to be passed, a double majority vote must be achieved, which is: a majority of voters in a majority of states (at least four of the six states) a national majority of voters (an overall YES vote of more than a 50 per cent).
When you register to vote, you are not identified by the party you tend to vote for (e.g. you're not seen as a Republican or a Democrat, you're just a voter.)
And if you turn up to a polling booth on Election Day and not buy and eat a charity sausage, you're seen as unAustralian. (I tend to vote early, get it out of the way.)
And here is a little video about the Democracy Sausage. Seriously, this happens across the country.
If you have to vote, you may as well make it fun. You're only going to end up with a politician, you may as well enjoy yourself when you're in line waiting to do your civic duty.
10) Mondays make me feel _________________.
a little despondent as I would rather be in bed still and I have to go to work.
Who has been in them? Why weren't they straightened? What did they feel like? What were you doing in them? Did the person who laundered them use fabric softener? What was the thread count?
And yes, these were the sheets on the massage table after I had a session the other night.
We live in a city of colour, vibrancy, where even a mundane laneway is transformed by colour, yet kept earthbound by an eponymous shopping trolley in the foreground.
There is no stink of piss, no needle fodder, no rubbish, no graffiti. Just a clean laneway and a Tuesday afternoon, well-kept and quiet.
It goes against the grain of inner-city laneway code of Melbourne.
Bourke Street. Tuesday,7.30 p.m. Twilight colours. Emerging lights. A sneaky Maccas. A last laneway meal before winter drives us indoors. Leaves cling to the branches. The ding of an approaching tram. Delivery bikes scarper across the road like cockroaches.
The car is parked easily. The mail is collected. A quick trip.
I live in a city. I have a post office box. This is the price of identity security.
Why? I want to spend some time writing fiction and this will be my compromise. Not blogging.
Okay, maybe not so much not blogging, but not writing on the blog so much. I'll still do the Sunday Questions and film and theatre reviews, and the odd bit of commentary, but for the next month or so I'll post a song of the day and a photo, just to keep the streak, and that will be that.
I might put a word count for the novel down the bottom, for accountabilities sake.
I mean, I've posted daily since the first of January 2020. It's a big ask. I want to keep the streak going.
So, I'm just changing mediums for a bit so I can get some more of this novel written.
Sound like a plan?
And this will be better than bleating on about how much I hate people who don't know how to do hook turns. I nearly got cleaned up going down Collins Street tonight. And I've only just had the car fixed.
As much as I love planning holidays, I also dislike it - mainly because I have to make decisions.
I'm normally good at decisions.
This time, I've got too many things to think about.
So here we go.
I leave Australia on the 13th of September, arriving in London on the 14th, in the afternoon. I'll find a hotel for the first night and see if friends can put me up until the 18th, when I get the Eurostar over to Paris. I've got a day on my own, then the Gunnas International Writer's Retreat starts on the 19th.
Ten days in Paris and Provence (okay, Occitane - but don't tell anybody that).
Arrive back in Paris on the 28th of September.
AND THEN WHAT?
I'm not flying all the way to Europe to only stay two weeks. I'm not sure I'll have a job when I get back, but still, you don't go to Europe and spend less than a month there.
I've pretty much decided that I need another night or two in Paris. I want to go to Versailles and Chartres - these are done from here. But then what.
Do I go back to England and head North for a few days? Go to York, or even Edinburgh or somewhere.
Or do I go back to England and go South, maybe having a trip for a few days around Cornwall, where the family come from. I've been to Cornwall a few times, but sitting on a beach watching your boyfriend pretend to surf isn't really the trip I'd want.
Do I stay in France. Lyon. Marseilles. Champagne. Brittany. Carcassonne. Monpellier.... endless places to go.
Do I head over to Rome and visit Lizzy?
Do I head to Barcelona and visit Cleo?
Do I have a chat to Reindert and see if we can coordinate again - maybe go to the Netherlands for a few days, visiting Belgium on the way because I've never been to Belgium and Bruges sort of fascinates me.
Do I stop in on Hong Kong or Singapore for a few days on the way home?
Do I head back to London and go museum and cathedral hunting - I do feel a need to go visit Thomas a Becket again?
Or do I wish I had a job where I could work from Paris, find a long-term house sitting gig and get my French where I want it to be?
Paralysis by analysis.
But I have to work out where I'm going before I buy the return portion of my ticket home.
Here's a novelty. Doing the Sunday Stealing questions on a Sunday. I was supposed to be donating blood this afternoon, but a slight sore throat has put pay to that (you never turn up to the blood bank feeling even remotely dodgy. This is a good chance to catch up on some daily tasks instead of doing the round trip into town.
Questions, as always, have been provided by Sunday Stealing.
1. What book are you currently reading?
That should read what books am I currently reading.
On paper, I'm about a third the way through Katerina Gibson's The Temperature. The writing is great but I'm not convinced about the plot.
I'm also a third the way through Paul Murray's The Bee Sting. It's a thick book and I had to put it to one side for a bit so I could read my book group books.
On audiobook, I'm two thirds the way through Emilia Hart's Weyward. I'm loving that. It's light and fun and about witches. The perfect foil for the other two books.
2. Have you ever smoked?
Yes. I used to be a social smoker but gave up around 15 years ago. Filthy habit.
3. Do you own a gun?
Hell, no.
For the Americans out there, just for a comparison, Australia has guns, but very strict gun control laws. We had one fellow shoot up a tourist location in the late 90s. 35 people lost their lives. The week after all automatic and semi-automatic weapons were banned and other measure were put in place to secure gun ownership. There was a major amnesty. All guns had to be handed in or licensed under strict conditions.
Even if you live on a farm, you need licenses and gun safes (I grew up in the country - we had a rifle). And a whiff of a criminal record or psychiatric illness and you're banned from having them. Owning a gun in the metropolitan area means keeping your guns in a lock up at a gun club. Police and members of the military may have a gun safe at home, but most are kept at the stations. Yes, sure, some nutters get through the cracks, but I'm really glad we have these laws.
We can also walk the streets not fearing being shot and our children don't go through active shooter drills from kindergarten.
Another small different between the State and Australia - from a doctor friend of mine - the doctors in our emergency rooms will be very unlucky to see a gunshot wound from year to year. There's a bit more of a chance of seeing them in big city hospitals, but most will be unlucky if they see one more than once a month.
4. What is your favorite candy?
Choose one of these:
Fru Chocs (Adelaide delicacy)
Chocolate covered Turkish Delight - you either love it or hate it.
Musk Sticks (Australian thing)
Topic Bars (they're a British thing)
Lindt chocolate with nuts. The white chocolate and almond bar is amazing.
5. Hot dogs: yay or nay?
Hot dogs, yay,. but with some caveats.
Australia, once again, does things different from America.
We have a barbequed sausage thing going here. Sausage, grilled onions, some tomato sauce (ketchup) in fresh white bread (I think you call it wonderbread). Magic. Best purchased outside your local Bunnings (Think Home Depot / B&Q) on any given weekend to support whatever charity is doing the cooking that weekend.
Hot dogs come in two forms. The ones you get at IKEA.
Or the ones you find in roadhouses, where they get the bun, toast the inside on a heated spike, put in some butter, the sauces then the sausage - and they are magic. There is my childhood.
Just another one of those things we do differently.
6. Favorite movie?
One of the following:
Priscilla Queen of the Desert
Atonement
Three Colours: Blue
Casablanca
Sliding Doors
Branagh's Henry V and Hamlet
Poor Things
To Catch a Thief
Lots of movies could go on this list. I love film.
7. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Coffee. My standard day opener is a decaf latte with almond milk. Yes I drink decaf. It's got a lot better. I like the taste, but I can't do the caffeine.
8. What do you drink throughout the day?
Water and decaf coffee or tea. Sometimes I'll have a can of sugar free soft drink - I like things like kombucha.
9. Do you do pushups?
Don't mention the war. Short answer, yes. I can pump out as many push-ups from my knees as you want. Chuck has other ideas and has me lowering down to the floor from my feet, then pushing up from the floor from my knees. Did I mention that Chuck was a sadist? I am getting stronger. But still.
10. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?
I've got three Pandora bracelets that I love. I've also got a leather bracelet with a couple of Pandora charms on it which I wear a couple of days a week.
11. Current worry?
I just look at the news coming out of America and my heart sinks. I'm also very grateful that I live in Australia.
Oh, here is my current dilemma. Before all of this awful stuff in America became so in your face that it's scary, I bought a ticket to London. It's a long trip. I'm supposed to go to Sydney, then fly to Los Angeles, not leave the airport, then fly to London a few hours later. The reason I booked this flight - 55000 frequent flyer points and $250. Most other routes were 130,000 frequent flyer points. Which I have, but like that the spend was less. yes, I'm cheap.
My dilemma is do I cancel the ticket and find another route to London. I'm not leaving the airport. I have to get an ETSA visa (thankfully I don't have any record or any reason for them to look at me funny, but you never know). There's no way I would visit America until the current regime is well gone. But as a transit stop? I'm also a well-spoken, polite, Caucasian, middle-aged woman - basically invisible - with an immediate onward ticket. But still. You hear stories. I'd love to hear some opinions on this. Oh, this is happening in September.
12. Current annoyance?
We're about to go into a Federal election. I can't watch terrestrial television as the political ads, particularly from Clive Palmer and his cronies (the Trumpet of the Patriots - give me bloody strength) as well as the claptrap from the Liberal National Party (Americans, think GOP).
I don't need to watch that. I know who I'm voting for. I've thought about it. I don't need my blood pressure going up like that. There's not enough chicken wire to protect my television. And my arm is getting tired from flicking these people the bird.
This is why I need chicken wire.
13. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?
No.
Give me high thread count pure cotton instead please.
14. No question provided. It's not you. It's not me.
15. Can you whistle?
Yes. My grandfather taught me when I was four-years-old, much to my mother's chagrin.
The Movie: A Little Something Extra (French Title: Un P'tit Truc En Plus)
The Cinema: The Palace, Elsternwick
Runtime: One hour 39 minutes
In French, English Subtitles
Stars: 4
This was an unexpected delight. Jonella and I were overdue for a catch up, so we met halfway between our houses and Jonella picked the film. She did good. This has also done very well in France, being one of the most loved films of last year.
Also, I'm always up for a French film, and this one has the added extra of being fun, funny, charming and just a very lovely way to spend the better part of two hours.
The premise is simple. A father and son (Artus and Clovis Cornillac) hold up a jewellery store. As they try to escape the police the end up joining a group of adults with disabilities, going to a summer camp, where the two pose as a resident and his carer.
It sounds a bit far-fetched.
Making this movie a complete treat is the fact that the actors are mostly intellectually disabled and get to play themselves. This is where the magic happens.
With the group are Alice (Alice Belaidi) and Celine (Celine Groussard) who ensure the group stay safe. The group, who live in assisted living together, have been going to the same country house in a very picturesque part of France for a number of years.
Over the week of the vacation, lots happens. "Orpi" the father, is trying to sort out what to do with the loot. Paulo/Sylvian, playing an intellectually disabled person, is found out by the group, who keep his secret. And you see how the men are redeemed as they gel with the group.
And sure, there's some running jokes, some which fall a bit flat. I loved that the real Sylvian, who was supposed to be on the trip ended up on a party bus bound for the south of Spain. He had a whale of a time. There's also a lot of in jokes. I loved the running theme of the Dalida lover. (If you know, you know).
By the end of the film, you've fallen in love with this loveable, kind-hearting, funny group and you'd love to spend more time with them.
One thing I will say - the film has improved my ability to swear in French. The film, written and directed by Artus, who also plays the son, also known as the fake Sylvian, has done a lovely job on this.
As a film that looks at disability, no as a weakness, but a strength, or as it says in the credits, for all the people who have something a little bit extra, this is definitely worth a look.
The Removalists was originally produced in 1971. 54 years ago. When it originally came out, I would’ve been three-years-old. This was David Williamson‘s fourth play, before he became the darling of the Australian in theatre scene. I remember this being on the Year 12 curriculum along with Don's Party and The Club in the mid-eighties.
It’s interesting that the Melbourne Theatre Company has chosen to put on, being one of Williamson‘s most famous plays, especially in a time where Women have far more equality and the behaviour of police has some improved over the years. It’s because of this that the play does feel a little bit dated. What might’ve felt normal 50 years ago certainly doesn’t ring true now, which makes us even more uncomfortable to watch.
The play hasn't changed. Set in the early 70s, we find ourselves in a two-man satellite police station where Sergeant Simmons (Steve Mouzakis) is lording it over his rookie Ross (William McKenna) who's having what I would call the first day from hell. The thing about this police station is nothing really happens there. Anything big gets sent to the big station at Box Hill. Anything too minor gets swept under the carpet.
Things change when Kate (Jessica Clarke) and Fiona (Eloise Mignon) turn up, requesting a police report after the latter's husband has bashed her. Kate, the more confident of the two sisters is adamant that Fiona report her husband's deeds as she's trying to leave him and evidence the evidence is required. Fiona wants anything for a quiet exit and for the situation to be resolved.
And here's where things get really uncomfortable for the modern consumer. Things, thankfully, have moved on in fifty years (even if some say they haven't). The way the women were treated - okay, condescended to. The taking of evidence. The lack of empathy. The incompetent cop coming up with a plan to extricate the hapless Fiona from the flat into her new place while her husband is out.
As much as is reeks of incompetence, I'm pretty sure things like this used to go on.
The second act finds us in Fiona's flat, freshly bashed and waiting for Simmons, Ross and the Removalist (Martin Blum) to turn up. Then her husband Kenny (Michael Whalley) unexpectedly turns up, refusing to go down the pub for a counter tea as is his normal routine.
And all hell breaks loose.
This isn't the best of Williamson's plays, but it is one of his most important, looking at everything from police competence and brutality, the fragility of those experiencing domestic violence, to the treatment of women, it's all in there.
I did enjoy the play. Jay didn't. And that's okay.
Firstly, all of the cast were great. This was really well acted. Steve Mouzakis was particularly good as Simmons, the lazy, bent older cop.
Anne Marie Sarks direction was also very good. She kept her cast on a very tight leash and this restraint paid off in droves.
My biggest issue with the whole thing was the set.
Instead of keeping this in the traditional proscenium arch arrangement, stage at the front, they did something different, putting a small group of the audience on the other side of the stage and having the stage in a rhomboid shape. We were seated in the traditional seats to the left. Having an odd-shaped stage was discombobulating. I'm not sure how I would have felt being on the other side of the stage close up to the action, which at times, was violent.
The stage about ten minutes before, taken from the far left.
This aside, Dale Ferguson and his team capture the drab banality of seventies decor perfectly. The office space, in particular, was masterfully rendered.
For me, despite a couple of misgivings, this was a win. At an hour and 45 minutes with no interval, I was kept entertained and aware for the duration of the place. What's more troubling is that concerns from fifty years ago are still front of mind today.
This is work a look. It's an Australian classic done well.
My cat went to see the vet today. As trips to the vet go it wasn't too bad.
I asked for a vet who was good with stroppy cats. I was told they had somebody who fit the bill.
My last meeting finished, I gathered the lad up, put him in his crate, went down the road to the vet and waited.
He wasn't happy. He really didn't like the golden retriever sniffing around him (from two metres away).
We met the vet, a lovely young woman with a calm, sensible nature.
We weighed him in the crate, taking his weight as the difference. 6.1 kilos. He's a big, muscular boy, but he's not fat.
The lad, although not happy at all, appeared to comply with our wishes.
He didn't do the Tasmanian Devil impression.
He didn't pee over anything.
He didn't scratch the vet.
He begrudgingly let her check his teeth.
He tolerated being wrapped like a burrito as he had his teeth checked.
He was okay with the vet giving him his annual shot and putting some flea, tick and worm stuff on his neck (better her than me - he hates when I do it)
And he climbed back into his crate and we went home.
And it was only when I was paying the $150 vet bill did I remember that I didn't wish him a happy gotcha day last week.
We've been together for five years now.
And he's still the best purchase I've ever made, even if he is sitting next to me demanding that I let him have my office chair to sleep on.
Happy birthday, mate. I'll give you your bed back now. Love, Mum.
I have the television on for company when I work from home. It's my background noise, my friend, the person I speak to in the kitchen and the person I try to avoid. I don't pay that much attention to it, though my neurospicy brain lets a few things in. I keep an ear on the news. But generally, there's something playing softly on the telly in the background.
And before you ask, yes, I was the kid who did her homework at the kitchen table with the television on.
Anyway, I have a new preferred program to watch at the moment. The West Wing.
Yes, it's old. And yes, there are some problematic things about it now - like Josh's treatment of Donna is a bit sub-par for a few of the seasons.
And yes, it's idealistic.
But wouldn't it be nice if we had Jed Bartlett in the White House? When things seemed measured and reasonable. Wouldn't it be lovely to see competent, intelligent, caring people in roles of power.
And yes, this is where I got most of my knowledge about how the U.S. Government used to work. I'm not saying it does now. It feels like a dystopian bully pulpit at the moment. I mean, The Handmaid's Tale and 1984 were meant to be fiction, not handbooks.
And sure, this is all very left wing and idealistic, but it's nice to think that there are some good people in government, who believe in public service, for services sake, who can string a sentence together (okay, thanks to Aaron Sorkin).
But I'll continue to have The West Wing on in the background. It's certainly easier than watching the news.
I remember doing this during the first Trump presidency. It did help.
Dev Prompt Card: Write a Reverse Bucket List of everything you have achieved and experienced.
I'm struggling to find things to write about tonight, so I pulled a prompt card.
I rather like this.
So, in no apparent order of importance or greatness:
I have:
Survived high school
Gained a bachelors and masters degree
Remained employed
Lived overseas for a number of years.
Visited the following countries - New Zealand, Malaysia, the United Kingdom, Ireland, France, Spain, Germany, The Netherlands, Italy, Greece, the United States, Indonesia, Thailand, Hong Kong, Singapore.
I have friends from all over the world.
I own a black cat.
I'm not in debt.
I've run five half marathons in my day.
I can leg press over 150 kgs (when I'm not injured)
Been to the Eiffel Tower, The Twin Towers, The Empire State Building, The Taj Mahal, Mataranka, Nitmiluk Gorge, Kakadu, The Isle of Skye, Glendalough.... This list could go on.
I've kissed the Blarney Stone.
I've been up in a balloon.
The only bone I've ever broken is a toe.
I've got over my fear of flying.
I could go on for a long time, but the cat wants his sleeping chair.
I do not need any more t-shirts. I have enough t-shirts.
But why do I want these t-shirts?
Or this one?
Or this one?
Or this one?
Or even this one?
I mean, I have enough t-shirts. But I like these. They would go well with my other dodgy t-shirts that read things like:
In my defence I was left unsupervised
See You Next Tuesday
Hell was Boring
Typical Bloody Leftie
We are the Daughters of the Witches you couldn't kill
And a number of dodgy band t-shirts, including one with a black cat and the Pixies logo.
And after the expensive day I've had today, where the car got repaired, the mailbox paid for, the hot water bill contested then paid (bloody estimated bills), I do not need a new t-shirt.
But my birthday is in August - and the website is https://www.tokyo-tiger.com/ if anybody wants to get me something I'd love to have in my collection.
I'm home from my jaunt around Australia. The cat is back and still talking to me - although I think he's speaking in Dutch now, but we can work on that.
1) How do you show others love? What makes you feel loved?
I'm known for being willing to give the shirt off my back to friends. I am generous and I suppose that is how I give love. I also like cooking for people, not that I do this very often. Acts of generosity are my love language.
Make me dinner and I am yours.
2) Who is someone you admire? Why?
I really admire the Teal parliamentarians over here. They're a lot of whip smart women who are neither Labor or Liberal (think Republican and Democrat in America, or Tory/Labour in the UK). They're true independents and it feels like I've got a voice in parliament.
3) Do you have the qualities you value in a friend?
I think so. I'm kind, loyal, generous, have a sense of humour and I'm mostly reliable if you take my time-keeping out the equation.
4) What is something you enjoyed doing when you were younger but don't do anymore? Why did you stop doing it?
I used to enjoy going to clubs when I was younger. I'm now far too old to do that. But I do still enjoy going to see live music. Clubs and clubbing are a different kettle of worms.
5) What is something other people think is fun but you don't?
Any sport which involves hurting or killing animals. I don't get it at all. I will go fishing, but I can't kill the fish when I reel it in, but I'm not into hunting for sport.
The same can be said for motor sport. I just don't get it.
After getting off the red-eye to Sydney this morning, arriving at my hotel, begging my way into an early check in (thank goodness for a platinum status with the hotel group, thanks to all the trips to Darwin), and a quick shower, I met up with an old friend for breakfast.
We've known each other for a while.
We're both middle-aged/
We talked about lots of things.
Trump - we both loathe.
His PhD candidature - interesting topic.
Working in the Territory - love it though the travel is a bit brutal.
The joys of middle-age. Men settle. Women don't. Women fight against disappearing. Men don't. Women expand. Men contract.
Then the topic meandered onto his sixteen-year-old daughter.
I should say, I've been having variations on this conversation over the last few months with various friends.
"How's Meg?" I asked.
"Hmph."
"I have a cat for a reason. Far easier than children." Well, it's a fair point.
"But kids don't shit in your shoes."
"True."
"So, what's the problem?"
"She has a boyfriend." I could hear the despair in his voice.
I will say, from what I've been told, Meg is a lovely, sensible girl, who has nice friends and does her homework, and stays out of trouble. She occasionally gets a bit lippy, but what sixteen-year-old doesn't bite back a bit? Sixteen is awful. If you don't mind spending time in their company and don't want to shoot them, you've done a good job of parenting them. Well that's my uniformed reasoning.
"So, is he nice?" I asked.
"He has a mullet." The disapproval was evident.
"So, what's up really? Your little girl has a boyfriend. She's growing up. You don't like him?"
"HE HAS A MULLET! My daughter has a boyfriend who has a mullet!"
Oh boy.
"But didn't you have a dodgy haircut when you were a teenager? A Flock of Seagulls flop? A James Spader combover. Or did your Mum still cut your hair?"
I shouldn't have goaded. He changed the subject after that. His bottom lip was still quivering.
Just to remind you.
Haircuts of the 80s.
And okay, when James Spader had hair in the 80s, it wasn't too bad. He's knicked a lot of his sister's hair mousse.
Then there's the Mum cuts.
He was unconsolable. Couldn't tell me if he was okay. His defining negative feature was that the bloke had a mullet.
Middle-aged men. They're such snowflakes. Today's song:
Is there anything better than tropical rain? I think not.
It is the end of the wet season up here and for the last few days, it's been raining, heavily at very inconvenient times. You want to go for a walk? It rains. Want to go for a swim. It rains, with lightning and thunder. Yeah, not a good idea. You wake up. It's raining.
I rather like it.
Today, after work, after handing in various passes and turning off the computer, I went to make a trip to the bottle shop to pick up some gin.
Of course, it was raining.
But not the heavy tropical rain. It was like a Melbourne rain. But warm.
And as I wanted to get to the bottle shop before returning home, I decided to walk in the rain. It wasn't heavy enough to do too much damage to the Birkenstocks, but heavy enough to get me a little damp.
Warm rain. Almost cloying rain. It felt like I was wandering through my morning shower. That warm.
It was just lovely,
And now I'm packing to go home. Sort of.
And overnight flight. A day and a night in Sydney. A morning flight (but not too early) on Sunday morning. Get back, get unpacked. Collect the cat.
We ate our winnings this evening. Three months ago, the three of us won a $150 voucher for the dinner at Sweethearts, a pub/bar/club on Mitchell Street which is a bit more upmarket than the normal backpackers places that line the streets. A pub crawl down Mitchell Street normally includes stops at The Darwin Hotel, Shenanigans, The Tap and Monsoons - Sweethearts is a bit further down the road and I'm not sure the bouncers would let you in. All of the pubs in Darwin have bouncers.
Anyway, the three of us and a ring in, Chunky, who's in his last weeks at the company, came along too as a proxy leaving do. We put the voucher to good use. It fed the three of us very well (Steaks all around) and a few non-alcoholic drinks, because we're being a bit boring. But it was a lovely night.
As was normally the case we tried to get an ice cream at Johnn Johnn's, but they were closed (and it was only just gone eight), so a trip to the seven-eleven was needed.
We were home by 8.30.
My other winnings occurred just after work. A proper swim was taken, restoring my soul.
The problem with work travel is you have to fit in exercise as and where you can. Yesterday it was tipping down. I also had the Silent Book Group at The Last Supper - something I like to do when I'm up here. And walking was out because it was too rainy. And there was no way I was getting in the pool, because of the storms. So no exercise was had. I've missed exercise this trip. Today, just the required 20 lengths before dinner was just what the doctor ordered.
I mean free grub and a swim. How much better can a night get?
I read at a silent reading group of Cavanaugh Street, I read this morning when I woke up at about 630.
And I’ve been writing all day, so I don’t really feel like writing now.
I will say, I do believe I need a writing group. I don’t think I’ve had a writing groups since I did the Faber course in 2020. One of the good things about Faber is you have a writing group there for you For a whole year, there to critique your work.
You don’t need to be friends, although you may end up friends at the end. You also need to be with people who write at the level you’re writing it. You also want people who can provide constructive criticism. You don’t want somebody who’s just gonna sit there and say that’s nice…
But I have no idea where to find a right group. I just know I’d like one.
Walking in the door, things feel different. It’s not as I left it four hours ago when I came home for lunch. The towels have been replaced in the bathroom. The bed has been made, well made better than I had made it this morning, the sheets folded with military precision, the blanket tucked in neatly. The dishes that have been sitting on the sink I’ve been done, again not many, just a coffee mug and a couple of spoons, but now they rest on top of a tea towel, drying.
For the first 18 months of coming up to Darwin for work, I stayed at this hotel. We’re always given a one bedroom apartment, meaning we have our own bathroom and kitchenette. But with the cheap room rate that has been negotiated, it also meant that the rooms would only be serviced if you stayed longer in a week.
The other small perk of the job is that you can join the hotels loyalty program. You get points for every night you stay.
There are also tiers to this loyalty program. Stay 30 nights over the year, you reach gold, and you get a drink on arrival and better rooms.
Stay more than 50 nights and you reach platinum. It appears with this you get complementary room servicing on a daily basis.
And it also seems a bit strange to me, because I don’t mind using a towel for a couple of days in a row. But it is rather nice to have somebody make your bed and do your dishes.
Oh, and the song of the day has been stuck in my head all day. I have been dancing to it. For all the great things about having your room serviced on a daily basis, there is nothing that beats a good earworm.
After a very bumpy flight up to Darwin, I’ve been left a little bit wrecked today. I’ve got a bit of work done but not as much as I would’ve liked to. It’s hard when you’re really tired. Nothing that an early night won’t fix.
Anyway, here are some random observations from around Darwin today.
1) Chatty Cathy Award
I was sitting next to a colleague today with a plaque on his desk which read, ‘Chatty Cathy Award 2023.’ My colleague could easily talk underwater with a mouthful of marbles. They make me look like an amateur. I have never seen a better corporate award in my life.
2) Random Bogans
I like bogans. There is a simple honesty about them. Proper bogans, that is, not cashed up bogans. And I met some delightful ones in the pool tonight. I am known for talking to anybody in the swimming pool, and the two women I met this evening were refreshing. They came from somewhere outside of Albury/Wodonga. They were covered in tattoos. They were about my age and up in Darwin to watch a football match played by on of their sons.
And as much as I am somebody who likes the finer things in life, I can talk football and beer and Darwin and thongs with the best of them. Okay so I would never drink VB by choice. I like to think I have a little bit more class than that. But was actually refreshing to talk to these two women.
My colleagues joined me in the pool 10 minutes after we started talking. It was remarked that I will talk to absolutely anybody. Yeah, I know. And that's okay.
3) Iced VoVo Hot Cross buns.
What is it with these Frankenstein hot cross buns? Hot Cross buns should have currents and a little bit of spice and a white cross on top - and if you're my friend Bernie, you hunt out the ones with mixed peel - which is a bit of a polarising ingredient. I went into Coles tonight after work to get my supplies for the week and there on sale were not only iced VoVo hot cross buns, But Vegemite hot cross buns, caramilk hot cross buns, And Apple and spice hot cross buns.,,,, Sheesh!
I’m sorry, why do we need all of these flavours of hot Cross buns particularly as Easter is still a month away? It’s a little bit criminal. It used to be the case that you would get these wonderful tasty treats in the week before Easter and that was it. If you came from a really strict family, you only used to get them on Easter Sunday.
I’m not sure I agree with all of this.
Regardless, my curiosity got the best of me and I have a pack of four Iced VoVo hot cross buns in the fridge. I just wish they had a mixed pack of all the specialty ones so you didn’t have to buy the pack of four that way you could them all out as a single serve.
I'm curious and judgemental all at once. Sorry for paraphrasing Walt Whitman (and Ted Lasso).
4) Handling the Locals
Knuckey Street after dark can get a little hairy. We know about this, and as a rule of thumb, unless you're with others, be back home by 8 pm. I was walking home from doing my weekly shop at 7 pm. I wanted to be home for MAFS. With the brewing storms about the place, it felt dark out. There were few people around, which is a bit standard for the tail end of the Wet Season on a Monday night.
My groceries in hand, I made my way back.
I was greeted by a local outside of McDonalds.
"Hello there," was the greeting.
"Hello," I replied in my smiliest voice.
I didn't really want to engage, but isn't it easier to offer a moment of recognition before moving on? It seemed to work, as there was nothing more to the exchange that the greeting. I crossed over Smith Street, they stayed eating their chips.
It was a much more pleasant encounter that the next encounter with some pissed idiots I met at the next crossing who were walking three abreast, and very slowly, on the footpath.
What is that adage about wanting to smack slow walking dickheads who walk slowly in front of you.
Regardless, I made it back for MAFS, groceries, dignity and clean criminal record intact.
I'm trying to pack for another week away. The flat feels empty and I took Lucifer around to my friends' place - and I left him happy - well his tail was saying he was happy.
It's been three months since I was in Darwin, and I have a funny feeling I'll be seeing a bit of the place over the next few months. I'd probably better get used to travelling again.
Today's questions come from Sunday Stealing. The site isn't saying who's setting the questions.
1) Think about the last person you forgave. How long did it take you to forgive them?
It's probably easier to ask me who I haven't forgiven, as I tend to forgive people pretty easily - I don't like carrying around negative feelings and letting people live rent free in my head.
However, I can carry around grievances at times. The last person I didn't forgive was a colleague who caused a lot of drama at work. Their behaviour was appalling. I won't go into it, but I lost all respect for them after one particular meeting. They were gone a few weeks later, but needless to say, you remember how people make you feel. I'm not sure I'd call the fire brigade if they were on fire. Sure, this isn't forgiveness, but I don't like when I lose respect for people. It's very disappointing.
2) Steph's favorite fast food is Taco Bell. What's yours?
I'm trying hard to no eat fast food, but I do have some go tos':
KFC chips
I love a Burger King/Hungry Jacks Whopper with Cheese with lots of pickles
McDonald's chicken nuggets.
But my favourite fast food is on the 'healthier' side of things. Grill'd burgers (Their bird and brie burger is amazing) or Schnitz wraps are my real favourites. But we don't have them very often.
3) Who was the last friend you hung out with? What did you do?
Other than bringing my mate Kat into town when I dropped off the cat, I was at a writer's retreat two weeks ago and I hung out with a lot of friends. We wrote and walked along the beach and danced and you name it, we did it. It was very cool.
4) Did you do anything this past week that will still seem important a year from now?
Not that I can remember. I got a handle on some documents which might be really important in a years' time. Other than that - nothing.
5) Will this coming week be better than last week? How so?
Well, I'll be in Darwin for the week, stopping off on the way home in Sydney to see some friends - so the change of scenery and seeing friends will be a good thing. Though I'll miss my cat.
My next-door neighbours are moving out in a few weeks, and this is a bit of a bugger. They've been my neighbours across the hall for a few years now. In that time, they've had a child, Lilu, who's not two. It's been good having some young child energy around the place. I remember when Ricky brought her home from the hospital. She was five-days-old and he asked me if I wanted to give her a cuddle. Of course, I did! How often to get to hold such potential in your arms?
I've watched Lilu grow up of the last two years. Her parents originally come from Taiwan, and she has Asian features. Finally her black hair has grown thick, her mother, Sheelah cutting into a pageboy cut. For two, she's also small. She's a cutey. Loud. A bit impossible (she is a Scorpio after all) but a lovely little kid.
So, imagine my delight tonight when I went downstairs to get to my massage appointment.
There was Ricky, sitting in front of his car, with Lilu sitting in a bucket of water.
I wish I took a photo.
And okay, Ricky's a plasterer, so he has a lot of big buckets at the back of his carport.
But finding Lilu, in one of his buckets filled with water, as happy as a pig in muck, it was a joy to behold.
I asked why she was in there.
It was what she wanted to do.
She wanted to sit in a bucket of water with a big grin on her face.
It must be lovely to have something like that make you happy. It must be lovely to be able to fit in a bucket of water.
I just wish I got a photo of her. It was a moment of pure joy.
See, and you were thinking I was going to go somewhere else.
This is absolutely fucked. But you say that abortion is still legal in Queensland. So? So, this means the parliament are also gagged from making improvements to the laws and services. For bringing in new medical abortions (the abortion pills - far less invasive and simpler than having the operation) They're letting things rest because their all-seeing magic sky messiah has told them it's wrong. I find it interesting that it was a group of middle-aged, conservative, MALE politicians who instigated this.
For fuck's sake, leave this topic in the hands of the doctors and the women and keep your harmful ideas away from our laws.
Here's a clip from the ABC which gives the human perspective as to why this is a VERY bad thing.
Just with most things that people can find morally or religiously iffy - think Voluntary Assisted Dying, Stem Cell Therapy, hell, even vaccines (though I have even stronger thoughts on this - but that's for another time). If you don't like it, don't do it. But don't stop others from carrying out their needs and wishes.
Why is this happening here? We're not an American Red State.
I've got this prompt from one of my magic box of prompts.
And I've never really written comedy.
I think I'm decidedly unfunny. I might be funny peculiar, but I'm not funny - HA HA.
And as for writing comedy, I'm not sure where to start.
But I'm told that writing comedy is about holding a mirror up to nature and pointing out the absurdities of life. Well, that's the gist of it.
Anyway, here's two hundred words of me trying to be funny.
I was asked what my preferred job title would be. Like Senior Technical Writer is not good enough. Nor does it really lean into my unique set of life skills.
I mean, there's no way a business would give me a job title that really shows what I do. "Document Unfucker" doesn't really fit the bill. Or Grammar Judger. (The number of times I have to turn off my camera so I can roll my eyes can't be counted.)
I'm also good at being the office straight talker. I mean, if you're going to set a test phase called DILO testing, of course people are going to call it Dildo Testing - because they know they're about to be shafted it the nicest possible way. Of course, it is left to me to explain this to management.
But if I was to have a job title that really suited my skills. If I was to have any job? I'd be one of the following. Take your pick.
And the Oscar goes to.... Dave the Tradie. The giant tattooed alleged nice guy.
Jaysus.
He's done a complete 180 with his personality.
He's completely channeling John Malkovitch in Dangerous Liaisons.
How did this happen?
Who is this person and what have they done with Dave?
Why do men do this sort of crap? Are all men emotional cripples?
It was uncomfortable viewing in more ways than one. I've been on the other side, and it is horrible
Oh well, that's my bit of drama for the day - at least the worst of the day is over. I survived another day in the war room with 20 odd other people. I survived training with Chuck and Tarquin - who I will often train Jay's away. She's in Thailand, so working out with Tarquin it is. We get a bit competitive. Don't ask me how I've strained a butt muscle - but now I'm sitting on a hot water bottle with an arse cheek plastered up with DeepHeat.
Despite the literal pain in the bum, I feel a bit vindicated. Working out with Tarquin - my weights are nearly where his are. And that feels good.
Unlike poor Jamie, who's be cut right off by Dave.
We do get so caught up in this silly show.
But for tonight, it's off to bed for me. I'm wiped.
I spent the day in a 'War Room'. I'm not sure if we are supposed to call it that, but I'll use that term.
Feeding the term into ChatGPT, it came back with the following terms:
Business & Strategy Context:
Command Center
Strategy Room
Operations Room
Crisis Room
Mission Control
Decision Hub
Situation Room
Battle Room
Project Management & Marketing Context:
Project Command Center
Innovation Lab
Sprint Room
Action Room
Control Hub
Planning Room
Execution Hub
Some would say it's corporate wank. Some, like me, see it as a day spent with FAR TOO MANY PEOPLE.
Remember, I've been working from home for five years. I go into the office once a week, normally so I can have lunch with friends and at best, there's normally up to ten people there - normally there's three or four. I like going in on these times - It's quiet.
Today, no so much.
A lot got done. We were supporting a testing phase that was happening in Darwin. There were highs and lows. But the room was full. Around 30 people were sitting about.
For me, I found my favourite desk (yes, it is possible to have a favourite desk in a Co-working space), stuck on a brown noise loop and left my headset on. Constructive chats were had when needed. Everything got done that needed to be done.
But by about 3 pm I was done.
There was a leaving do tonight. I couldn't face it and I made my apologies to the person who was leaving. They understood.
And by the time I walked through the door at 6.30 to a very happy cat, I poured myself a beer and reveled in the solitude.
Yes, I'm sociable, but the introvert in me needs space.
I'm glad for the night at home. I have to do all of this again tomorrow.
There is a reason why I'm Still Here was nominated for a number of Oscars (Best Film, Best International Film, (which it won), and Best Leading Actress for Fernanda Torres) The reason why is it's bloody brilliant. A tour de force of a film, which you don't expect from this little film from Brazil. The performances bring this to an extra level. It's hard-hitting, yet subtle. It's a very human film. And even better (or worse) it's based on fact.
We meet the Paiva family in 1970, living on Ipanema Beach in Rio de Janeiro. Mother, Eunice (Fernanda Torres) and her ex-congressman husband Rubens (Selton Mello) life a wonderful life with their five children, four girls and a boy. The kids are lively, loving life, intelligent and the family is one you'd love to be a part of.
But all is not well in Rio. We see this first-hand through the conversations with the parents and when their eldest daughter Vera is stopped at a military checkpoint on the way home from that you start to realise that all is not well. There are a lot of covert conversations. Vera is sent to London to stay with family friends. There is word that people are disappearing. (What is it with these South American's and their military juntas?)
This is a part of Brazil's history which is often glossed over. It's truly awful what happened to so many people. The disappearances affect generations.
It's through this set up that you grow very quickly to love the Paiva family. They're good people. When the unspeakable happens, when Rubens is taken away by the police that things kick in. Eunice is forced to keep the family going. This come to a head when she and her next eldest daughter, Eliana, are taken in for questioning that the seriousness of the situation really comes to a head.
By the time Eunice is finally released from police custody, you are completely invested in the family.
The film is based on the book written by the son, Marcelo Rubens Paiva. More about the family can be found here.
This is exceptional filmmaking. Walter Salles, who also directed The Motorcycles Diaries, keeps a very tight rein on his actors. There is just the right balance of tension, family time and political intrigue. The set and costumes are spot on, capturing the seventies perfectly. And there is a dog. All good films have a dog.
I also loved how the film made a deal of the family photos and films being shot, only to find the original family photos shown in the closing credits
For me, it's Fernanda Torres' performance which makes this movie. It's nuanced and understated and shows a woman providing incredible strength to her family and those around her. Some have said that she should have won the Oscar over Mikey Madison. It is a career best for the actress. Another fun fact, in the closing phase of the film, we see an older Eunice. She is played by Torres' mother, Fernanda Montenegro. And here was I thinking the makeup job was Oscar worthy.
I'm very glad we went to see this. It's hard-hitting and emotional and a brilliant bit of cinema. That it's based on a true story from a bit of unrecognised world history, even better.
One... two.... three.... four.... five (breathe out through the nose), roll the left shoulder, six (Breath in through the mouth, head and shoulder down).
Repeat. Until you get to the end of the lane.
It's a mantra.
I don't know how to tumble turn. And that's okay. I had my last proper swimming lesson some fifty years ago. I remember going to Mrs Brown's swimming school in Warradale, just down the road from my grandparent's place. All I can remember is blowing bubbles and being told to kick more. I still have to remind myself to kick. And don't ask me about my breaststroke. It's terrible and is in bad need of stroke correction.
But my freestyle is solid.
When I was running, I had similar mantras, but was more an "in two three four, hold two three four, out two three four...." the breath in time with my steps.
I only breathe every six strokes when I do freestyle. When I'm fitter, more swim-fit, it's every eight strokes.
I went swimming with EJ again this morning at the Box Hill pool. The pool is a complete melting pot. The inside pool is a Petrie dish where what feels like hundreds of children have their lessons. The outside pool, where we swim is less populated, but still a melting pot of ages and ethnicities. It's a nice pool. The people are friendly. You feel safe leaving your bag at the top of the lane.
EJ's on another one of his swim challenges, and once again, I got to be the cheerleader. I'm also the other person in the lane who is not a pain to swim with. I get the etiquette. If you're swimming by yourself in a public pool, you want somebody who's respectful to swim with. You let the person who's slightly faster to go first. You don't hog the lane. You work your speeds. It's really relaxing.
Of course, EJ is swimming 5-6 times a week. He's swim fit. He's doing 80 lengths of a 25 metre pool in about an hour. This time, I managed 50 lengths - around 1200 metres, in the same time. I'm stoked.
What's even better, when doing freestyle, I can keep pace with EJ. I need to swim more to get fitter, to get faster.
But the best thing of all?
For an hour, I get to just count. One....two... three.... four.... five... (breath out through the nose) roll the left shoulder, six (breathe in through the mouth, then head and shoulder down). Repeat. Until you get to the end of the lane.
It appears Sunday Stealing is back on deck after a hiatus of a couple of months. I'm pleased about this, as Sunday is my day to write fiction, and it means I can get a blog post out of the way. I'm trying to pen something for this month's Furious Fiction as well as get some knitting out the way and do some housework. As we have a long weekend, it's a great chance to get all of this done.
So, thank you to The Gal Herself, who's taken over from Bev for he while setting the Sunday Stealing questions.
FIVE people who mean the world to you.
I'm really not into naming and shaming people in this blog, so please excuse me if I group some people together. I have a broad group of friends from all over the word who I love and cherish and I'm bit amiss to single them out. So here goes.
1. My family. Even though I don't see them much and they think I'm odd, I do love them.
2. Jonella and Blarney - they're my Melbourne sisters.
3. The girls from Gunnas, the writer's collective I belong to. We go on writing retreats together - and they are my tribe. I never thought I would find a tribe, but we all just get each other.
4. Reindert. Reindert is my Dutch friend who lives in Colorado. He does friendship better than almost anybody I know. It's long-standing, gentle friendship. Maybe because we're both a bit odd. Maybe it's because we have similar values, but I love that he is my friend.
5. Can I call out my cat? I know Lucifer isn't a person, but he is my child, and I love him dearly.
FOUR things you fear.
1. Swimming in open water
2. Huntsman Spiders
3. Fundamental any group of religious people - and you can count Hillsong as part of this group. Maybe just change that to organised religion.
4. Dying alone and in pain.
THREE words to describe how you feel right now.
1. Warm. (In was a fairly hot day here today)
2. Hopeful
3. Calm (Which considering the news is a bit of a miracle)
TWO things you're excited about.
1. I'm going to England and France in September. So looking forward to this. I've kept up with my daily French lessons.
2. Having my hair grow back. My hairdresser, the wonderful Lee, chopped a lot of it off today and I feel a bit naked. I'll be excited to get it back again. I like my hair a bit longer, even if it does feel good.
ONE thing you'd like to say to someone.
1. Please put me in front of one or other right-wing world leader and let me at them. Seriously, where does the world find these people. I'd love to give them a serve. I'll probably be wearing my "Typical Bloody Leftie" t-shirt at the time. (If you're in America, the t-shirt would read 'Typical Damned Liberal...")
