Don’t ask me why – it’s a work thing – but I’ve just spent several hours standing outside the Members Entrance to the Sydney Cricket Ground where, already, people are lined up for tomorrow’s Sydney Ashes Test. Although most of those who intend to line up are not expected to be there until sometime later in the night, the first of the Members to arrive was at about two-thirty. Oddly enough, although they’re members, they’re not guaranteed seating, and so a custom has emerged which sees people lining up overnight, and then making a mad dash for seats, once the members gate officially opens. Those who’ve bought tickets arrive a little later in the morning and can take their seats in the more traditional manner.
The people already there seemed very nice – not crazy at all – and actually shared some of their takeaway pizza with me. But mostly I was sitting there by myself for a while, waiting for a security guard, and watching the world go by. I chatted with a bloke who has just moved from NZ who told me he couldn’t believe how big Sydney was… I smiled… and to a Surry Hills couple who were walking past in anticipation of attending the cricket tomorrow. But by far the largest proportion of those who walked by were male couples, or large groups of males, so I’m either assuming there was either a dance party at Fox Studios today, or it’s the most convenient route to Oxford Street.
It was a nice time of the afternoon to be there, but as it’s just started to sprinkle lightly, I’m glad the security guard – Mohammed – arrived a short while ago.
Ikea at Rhodes is big. Really big. Much bigger than the one I used to have at nearby Moore Park.
I was so upset when Moore Park Ikea closed. It was so convenient, being only a ten minute walk from home. Getting to Rhodes was a far more complex affair, especially since there was track-work today.
I went there with a couple of goals in mind: to buy some household goods and to eat some “typically” Swedish food.
The meatballs were a bit of a disappointment to be honest, falling far short of the meatballs I enjoyed in Sweden, and most memorably at Skansen. For a start, the accompanying potato was mashed. And secondly, the meatballs were a little dried out, and definitely in need of that murky brown sauce and cranberries to make them edible. Yes, I knew it was always going to be the case, but I hoped nonetheless.
Still, I enjoyed some Marabou Chocolate which is the same all around the world, thank goodness.
After lunch I went in search of some new cutlery. That was all I wanted. Though of course I ended up buying some saucepans, a bedside light, and some some cards.
I also walked around practising my Swedish by saying as many words and names as possible outloud. Clearly, I have no shame anymore, or perhaps it’s confirmation I’ve joined the ranks of Sydney’s freaks err bohemians.
Ikea Sydney
As I’ve mentioned previously, I’m not a good shopper. In fact, I kinda loathe shopping. And after a while I had a minor panic attack. “Get out of here”, I thought to myself after about an hour or so of mindless consumerism.
Despite this, the whole experience remained wonderfully Swedish. Although the vast majority of shoppers were of Asian descent, I heard three or four people speaking Swedish which was kinda fun.
In particular, as I was looking at some of the Swedish food on the way out, I overheard three young people looking at the food and speaking in Swedish. “Jag har inte”, I heard one of them say, as he looked at the goods in the freezer. Literally it means “I have without”, but in this context it means something more poetic like “I miss them so much!”.
As I sat on the train station at Rhodes to catch the train back I thought for just a moment I was back in Sweden. It was modern and quite clean. The trains ran on time, though obviously less frequently. The colour scheme was the typically Swedish blue and yellow/gold. And it was surrounded by medium-high apartment blocks. For just a moment I was back at Solna Centrum in the dark suburbia of Stockholm. Of course, I was in Sydney’s equivalent.
It’s Saturday night and I’m doing what I always do on Saturday nights… watching “The Bill” and playing around on the web. I don’t think I’m in a rut, by maybe I am. Maybe I need to make a New Year’s resolution to stop staying home on Saturday night, to video-tape “The Bill” and to make an effort to go out and do something?
Friday was a relatively quiet day at work, as we were broadcasting the cricket. Nonethless, I had a few jobs to do, including some pre-records and some web-work. By 5.30pm, however, it was time to go for yet another “Christmas Drinks” with James, Jen and a few other people from work. We got into a reasonably interesting discussion with a guy who is an ethicisit and a guy who is a philosopher about the nature of addiction. As the glasses emptied on that conversation, I commented that it was time to meet the needs of my own addiction. I kept myself reasonably “nice”, until I went to the Triple J Christmas Party. Big mistake! No, actually it was fine, although I probably had a few too many drinks. Still I chatted to a few people who wouldn’t normally look twice at you at work but who wanted to have the biggest conversations of their lives with me – I’m sure they weren’t on drugs. The music was great, the drinks plentiful, and the conversation was pretty good too. Don’t remember much about getting home, except that I did have to have a little “sit down” on the way.
When I arrived home, I picked up the mail to find a great reminder of what a hedonistic, selfish life I lead. Earlier this week, I had finally decided to sponsor a child through the Christian Childrens Fund, having thought about it, but not having done anything about it for several years. It’s so hard to conceptualise that the money I piss up a wall on a regular basis can actually help someone so much more.
His name is Nureden Hussen from Ethiopia. He comes from Kebet, a small village in Guraghe Administrative region. Have just been reading about him tonight. He has siblings. Both his parents are alive and live together in a small hut. The family sustenance is depended on the father who is selling fire wood for living and the mother is a day labourer. However,what they get from the market is not enough to fulfil the family’s need satisfactorily. Considering the desperate situation of the family the committee referred this needy child to be helped. They are from Silti ethnic group. He is in preschool and he likes counting numbers and reading alphabets. Nureden is healthy and also likes playing with toys made of worn out clothes. I hope my small sacrifice can make a difference to he and his family’s life.
According to the Christian Childrens’ Fund In turning your commitment into action, CCF Australia guarantees to send 80% of all child sponsorship funds overseas for the effective planning, management and delivery of community based services to benefit children and their families. Our commitment to you ensures you that your donation is benefiting the people who need it most. Of the 80%, a proportion covers the operations of the National Office in each country, where highly qualified social workers and program officers oversee and implement activities in clean water provision, nutrition programs, health care, education and income generating skills. CCF is very careful in the selection and training of our field staff, as they represent an essential part of our ability to be accountable to our supporters. The remaining 20% covers the operations of CCF Australia, in the Sydney office, and is used for administration costs and to raise awareness of CCF’s work. 100% of the optional gift money to sponsored children is sent through CCF’s international bank channels with no administrative deductions from CCF.
Anyway… back to my reality. Although I had several things planned for the day, I did none of it. I just didn’t feel like leaving the house. Tomorrow is another day, as I’m going to see the Harry Potter movie with some friends. Tomorrow is another day. Spent a while doing some work on websites for friends.
The life story of Anni-Frid Lyngstad, the dark-haired singer from the pop group, ABBA is a fascinating one. It’s one of those classic rags to riches stories, with a fair amount of personal tragedy along the way. But it’s also one with an fascinating historical context, and one which provided the compelling narrative for the documentary, “Norways Nazi Secret” which screened last night on Foxtel’s “History Channel”.
At the heart of the program was the story of her mother, Synni’s relationship with Alfred Haase, a member of the German occupying forces in Norway during the Second World War. Although the program makes the case theirs was a two-year love story, the program locates their narrative within the context of the bizarre Nazi scheme which encouraged German soldiers to “breed” with “racially pure” Norwegian women.
According to the documentary, there were many thousands of children in a smilar circumstance to Anni-Frid, who who were often born in special hospitals and asylums, and whose early lives were closely monitored and meticulously documented by the Nazi’s, with each child asssigned a “Lebensborn number”. Although the program explains how many of the young women saw nothing more in their relationship than, say, “the attraction of a uniform”, the program also explains how many of these young women were seen as traitors. When the war ended, many of the women and the children found themselves shunned by the broader community, with the children sometimes placed in mental institions.
Synni Lyngstad Grave, captured from tv special.
Anni-Frid was luckier. To escape the shame associated with her birth, Anni-Frid she was taken at a young age by her grandmother to Torshalla, a small town in Sweden. Soon afterwards, her mother followed, though Synni died soon afterwards, aged twenty-one, from kidney disease. Although it’s said Anni-Frid’s father, Alfred had promised to return to Norway after the war, he never did, and thus Anni-Frid was raised by her grandmother.
Although Anni-Frid escaped most of the excesses of abuse faced by other children in a similar circumstances, the program concludes her vdecision not to speak publically about the associated issues is evidence that she too has felt a life-long shame. One of Anni-Frid’s early musical influences, Charlie Norman, also describes how in her early life, she would always avoid discussion about her heritage, and was always a little withdrawn.
In the 1970s, however, at the peak of ABBA’s popularity, Anni-Frid was contacted by her father, Alfred Haase. In his book, “Bright Lights, Dark Shadows”, one of those interviewed for the documentary, Carl Magnus Palm, explained the apprehension Anni-Frid felt about meeting her father for the first time. For reasons unknown, Anni-Frid and Alfred no longer maintain contact. And until this particular documentary, the only other time this story received widespread coverage was when Haase appeared in a German tabloid magazine, pleading with Anni-Frid to resume contact.
Over the years there have been a number of newsaper article and television programs which have touched on the story of Frida’s heritage, and I thought this was one of the best I’ve seen. The program doesn’t seek to be a “tell all documentary” about “Frida’s Nazi Past”. This is a series program which seeks to tell an important story, using the story of a well-known person to personalise the narrative. That the program features people like Carl Magnus Palm, who I really respect, as well as a child-hood friend of Synni Lyngstad, as well as the photographer, Bubi Heilimann who had a friendship with Frida also gives it an air of credibility and respectability.
Bit buggared actually. The combination of long days at work and a busy social life is catching up with me, I think.
And so tonight, I came home, hit the couch, and did not much else aside from watch television.
There’s a show I must download, purchase legally, called “How The World Was Made”. It’s all about geology and rocks and tsunamis and volcanos etc that I watched on The History Channel or some such station. Gosh it was good.
That’s enough energy exerted for a Wednesday night, surely?
January 28 : This is a pic of Dot Strong! (A well known ABC figure) If you know anyone who ever worked at 2BL / 702BL / 702 ABC Sydney / ABC Radio Sydney (or closely associated areas eg: Marketing, MCR etc), there’s now a group, with a view to holding a reunion. https://facebook.com/groups/abcsydneystaffreunion/January 31 : Lie-down protest outside News Corp HQ in Surry HillsJanuary 31 : OMG, I just did this. When I should have pulled out my keys to enter the backdoor of my apartment block, I pulled out my Opal Card. I’m not the only one, right?January 26 : Love this number plate for the AFP in CanberraJanuary 24 : Am in Canberra for a couple of days and this is how fast the teams go on Northbourne Avenue. Take that Sydney!
“I feel like I’m a full-time amputee,” I told my physio on Tuesday.
It was a comment that slipped out, but the more I’ve thought about it this week, the more accurate it feels. When you live with limb loss, there is an entire hidden calendar of appointments, assessments, and admin that can easily swallow your identity if you let it.
Take this week alone. It kicked off on Tuesday with my physio to keep my body moving properly. By Wednesday, the focus shifted to accessibility, doing a wheelchair assessment out in Burwood with the team from WheelEasy to map out the real-world boundaries of our local streets.
On Thursday, it was a deep-dive conversation with my occupational therapist about navigating daily life. By Friday, I was seeing my prosthetist to get measured for a replacement prosthetic. Because our bodies change, stump shrinkage means my current one simply no longer fits—a stark reminder that the hardware requires constant maintenance just to keep up with the biology.
Getting fitted for a new prosthetic involves some old fashioned plaster moulds.
By any definition, it’s a full-time gig. It’s physically exhausting, mentally demanding, and requires a level of scheduling logistics that would make a corporate project manager sweat.
After that intense week of appointments, I desperately needed to shed the “patient” label. I headed to the Drummoyne Sailing Club for dinner and drinks with friends. Though we got there after dark and missed the spectacular 180-degree panoramic view of the harbour—with Cockatoo Island and the lights of North Sydney glittering across the water— it was still the perfect antidote. Looking out at the shifting tides, the stress of the medical week completely melted away.
Ross won the meat tray! Another lucky winner was a VERY PROMINENT Australian. We recognised her name and face straight away, though she’s obviously better known at the club simply by her first name.
Then came today. The weekend vibe started early, but with a very specific, bittersweet purpose. I joined a gathering at the Hero of Waterloo in the heart of The Rocks. Walking into that heritage-listed, convict-built pub is always like stepping back into 1843, with its old hand-chiselled sandstone walls and heavy timbers. Today, the pub was absolutely jumping, packed with people soaking up a wonderful live band.
But our corner of the pub was gathered for something unique: a celebration of the life of Görel Hanser, ABBA’s legendary long-time manager, who passed away recently. Today would have been her birthday.
In some ways, it sounds like an odd gathering—a room full of fans toast-raising a manager in a historic Sydney pub—but there was so much to talk about. The overwhelming consensus in the “ABBA world” is that Görel wasn’t just a fierce professional who did her job incredibly well; she was someone who genuinely cared about the community and was truly a friend of the fans. Being surrounded by that unique energy was brilliant.
With that warmth filling the tank, I headed off after lunch to record a podcast interview with a fellow amputee for my podcast. He is based near Toowoomba in Queensland, so the recording was online. Nonetheless, it was a really great opportunity to hear wisdom from a fellow amputee, thus rounding out my week.
Don’t ask me why – it’s a work thing – but I’ve just spent several hours standing outside the Members Entrance to the Sydney Cricket Ground where, already, people are lined up for tomorrow’s Sydney Ashes Test. Although most of those who intend to line up are not expected to be there until sometime later in the night, the first of the Members to arrive was at about two-thirty. Oddly enough, although they’re members, they’re not guaranteed seating, and so a custom has emerged which sees people lining up overnight, and then making a mad dash for seats, once the members gate officially opens. Those who’ve bought tickets arrive a little later in the morning and can take their seats in the more traditional manner. 
The people already there seemed very nice – not crazy at all – and actually shared some of their takeaway pizza with me. But mostly I was sitting there by myself for a while, waiting for a security guard, and watching the world go by. I chatted with a bloke who has just moved from NZ who told me he couldn’t believe how big Sydney was… I smiled… and to a Surry Hills couple who were walking past in anticipation of attending the cricket tomorrow. But by far the largest proportion of those who walked by were male couples, or large groups of males, so I’m either assuming there was either a dance party at Fox Studios today, or it’s the most convenient route to Oxford Street. 
