Halloween Privileges

Being asked by (adult) son to paint his face is a rare thing! So make the most of it. I could have completely flipped out with the colours but kinda behaved myself. Dorky Scooby Doo is a nice finishing touch.

The Hero of Mboto Gorge?

Family is, well family. And you love them regardless of what they stick up their nostrils. And you love them when they are prancing around in Nepal impressing the Gurkhas with just how barmy their officers really are. But let’s face it there is far too much vanilla out there and not enough Spike Milligan, and Lord knows we all need some Milligan dosed out daily in large measure if we are to retain our sanity. (If you are completely perplexed about what Ross is up to, reference Blackadder here). Apologies to Rhys for nicking his photo off his Facebook page - I will plead insanity(implant pants and insert pencils as proof). And thanks Ross - for being Ross! And for the laugh, sorely needed.

Black and White - with Lots of Colour

The first time my name was in print I was shy to the point of embarrassment. The second time I was published I was paid 900 pounds sterling but thought I had better keep my name off that piece - it was some analysis on China and given where I was working at the time some might have taken a dim view of that. I can still scarcely believe it was for only 600 words! Since then my name has been on a lot of things but aligning name in print with cash for the trouble remains elusive. But hey, that is not what writing is about is it (is it?) Well, certainly not this effort by the Fast Twitch Writers Group which landed in my mail box (the one in the garden wall, not my laptop) this evening. This is a brilliant labour of love with some really good writing in it (no, not mine) by some local folk with a real gift for writing. Writing is like sex - the fun lies in the creating. I can’t promise being taken to pleasurable heights, real or imagined. But I can promise some creativity here which is impressive. If you want a copy try here…If not, that is okay too. You can admire the cover instead - daughter Miriam trying to look awake over the Saturday morning papers but really still tucked up in bed!

Cool BBQ

Cool alright. The hoodies give it away. 8 degrees of cool. Evening meal outside in mid winter is no big deal here when the snow is hours away and frost in this part of the world unheard of. But it is always nice to sit around talking nonsense, drinking an excellent red and bracing yourself for the coming week. We are more fortunate than most.

Long in the tooth Desert Rats

I love stories of reconciliation and forgiveness. Some of the most powerful are those of soldiers imprisoned and treated in the most appalling way by the Japanese, yet travelling to Japan after the war to convey their forgiveness - in words but also in deeds. (I do too understand those who can never stomach the thought of having anything to do with any Japanese culture whatsoever). But reconciliation and forgiveness is a powerful and poignant story wherever it is set. Reconciliation of former combatants happened recently in the home of my brother (picture here refers) who has done a great job of pulling together the story of foes who once faced off at Tobruk. Their story is told somewhat in this story in the Daily Mirror, and there is a rather compelling podcast here of an interview of two of them courtesy of the BBC. And of course, here is his book.

p.s. there is a fascinating follow up BBC interview with Rudolf Schneider here. And a piece in The Independent which is an interesting read too.

A Quorn Meal

Soft pink waist coats and mole grey jackets suggest something refined and gentle. The galah is anything but, especially when when it is jinking up the street with five its mates, showing off clever manoeuvres like teenage boys in their new cars. But they are the only signs and raucous sounds of life for a full eight minutes on this mild sunny day in the middle of the street.  We sit and make small talk and in the long pauses there is only silence. On the stroke of the ninth a plastic clatter of split curtains and a tray appears with our coffee and juice. And some cream dolloped on the caramel slice. Read more

Quorn Dogs

“You on channel Miss Betty?”
The silence out of the radio is accompaniment for the empty horizon. “You on channel Miss Betty?”
Nothing. The microphone is dropped back into the console and we drive on, dust erupting and billowing behind us, saltbush blurring beside us.
This expedition started with a sit in the sun on the veranda lazy “what do you want to do today?” and became decisive and focused at the prospect of driving through ghost towns and exploring empty ruins - on the way to meet “Miss Betty.” Joy Betty in fact.
Run out on a straight dirt road for mile after mile leaving a Space Shuttle plume of dirt that will not settle in the still air. Bore down on a spectacular serrated, purple ridge, cut across it and be met with another flat plain with a cream slash of a road scored across it. Aim for the next serrated ridge on the horizon. Repeat often, until each flat and each rise takes you across the Adelaide/Sydney highway and into the stony ranges in which “Miss Betty” lives. Read more

In Fields of Quorn

Last weekend I watched my brother play with his son and thought “Thirty years apart is far too long”. There is pain in the realisation that it has been so long. Years never recovered. Years not shared. All valuable and constructive in their own way, and all filled with light and drama and satisfaction and accomplishment. But still echoing with the emptiness of that separation, even though its an echo that is only now reverberating. We caught glimpses of each other over the years, for the briefest of moments. A swing though Devon here, a quick trip to Canberra or Sydney there. Read more

A Child Graduates

Hey Dad, how come we (kids) never feature on your blog? Good question. If it’s just plain weird or bizarre then I am attracted to it - so you would think they would be a recurring theme. Maybe it is because the most exotic place any of them have resided is Ballarat. If they camped in Baghdad I might feel I had reason to write them up. Or, if they graduate from University, well that is a pretty good reason too. And probably safer than taking up residence in Baghdad - mind you, the crime rate of Ballarat is worse than New York.  See, here I am being mugged at the rotunda in the main street of Ballarat.

O’Connor Buckley

I have never been overly comfortable about saying how proud I am about family - can’t have them getting grand notions about themselves now can we ?! But the fact of the matter is that wherever I cast a glance out across the tree I only see people of whom I am extremely proud and who I love dearly. Read more

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