When I got home from the pub I switched on ABC News 24. The channel had launched a few hours ago when I was farewelling a colleague who was moving to Melbourne.
Were it not for her farewell, I’m sure quite a few of us would have been glued to the television or at the official function to launch the new channel.
From what I’ve seen so far it’s pretty good, although I do think the clock in the bottom right hand corner is a little small. (Or maybe I need to increase the prescription on my glasses?)
It’s been fascinating watch it develop over the last couple of weeks as they’ve done “practice runs” in the studio. As I work near the studio, and pass by several times a day, I’ve often stopped for a quick look. Another colleague, who isn’t in the building as much has had a more hap-hazard experience, only seeing the test runs on occasions. “They come in, they go out. They’re a bit like pandas at the zoo at the moment”, he joked.
The farewell, though, was lovely and very enjoyable. It was held upstairs at The Shakespeare in nearby Surry Hills.
Even though I’ve lived in Surry Hills for fifteen years and have been a regular visitor to the pub, I didn’t know there was an “upstairs”. I thought it might have been accommodation or something. But no, it’s a lovely lounged dining area, and now I know it exists I’ll be going back there more regularly.
And it was a lovely way to spend Thursday. I’ve been REALLY busy lately at work, and it was nice just to relax with colleagues and – mostly – NOT talk about work.
There was a long queue for taxis at Brisbane Airport this morning. At one point, there was maybe 100 in the queue with no taxis. Thankfully the taxis didn’t take too long to arrive. Lucky for me, I was wearing shorts as it was pretty bloody humid.
By mid-afternoon the humidity had gone. In its place were dark skies with a greenish hue, and bucket loads of rain. At one point, the thunder and rain were so loud I could barely hear the radio on the desk next to me. Looking out my window, all the cars had their lights on, and it was almost as if it was night.
Unfortunately the rain came inside our building also. As pathways flooded, the rain found its way under doors and through cracks. A bucket and mop became my tool of trade for my first day in Brisbane.
I’m here for a week helping out the team who’ve been working flat out over the last two months covering the seemingly never ending series of natural disasters. On a personal sense, it’s good too, as I get to catch up with family.
I also get to go down memory lane, as I’m staying at Toowong, not far from where I used to live. Although the house I used to live in is no longer at Taringa (replaced by an apartment block many years ago), not much else seems to have changed. The train station is a little more modern, admittedly, but the Toowong Village Shopping Centre doesn’t seem to have changed that much in twenty-something years.
I swear the last time I went to the Toowong Village was when I used to work for Coles New World (as it was called then). In the intervening period between when I quit Coles Fairfield – and was largely unemployed – before beginning my radio career, I did a fair bit of night-packing at Coles Toowong.
It was funny to go back to Coles tonight on a bit of a grocery run, and to think what if I’d stayed in Brisbane, hadn’t pursued my radio career dream. I don’t know what the answer is, but it was fun to briefly consider that thought as I walked around the supermarket tonight.
In a mid-afternoon text message, a friend, currently researching a documentary, asked me if I had any contact details for Bob Hawke. Laughing out loud, I rang her back and said, “Yes, I do, he’s standing right next to me”. I resisted the urge to hand the phone over to the former Prime Minister, as my friend and I kept laughing about the oddness of the co-incidence.
Bob was one of a number of special guests at today’s China-Australia Business Lunch at Sydney’s Museum of Contemporary Art. In the official part of the proceedings, he spoke at length about the importance of the relationship between Australia and China, describing it as “Australia’s most important relationship”.
The team who helped produce – China the New Long March – Photograph by Catherine Croll
He also reflected on the forty years since Australia officially recognised the government in Beijing. He noted the role played by Gough Whitlam in particular, and spoke about how he recently attended the former Prime Minister’s 96th birthday, saying that although Gough is no longer in peak condition, the recognition of China in 1972 was one of his most important and proudest achievements.
Bob also noted the significance of Deng Xiaoping’s decision to open up the Chinese economy, and why Australia has become one of the greatest beneficiaries of that. He also mentioned that decision in 1978 led the way for India to become more open also. What surprised me most was when Bob revealed he had recently visited China for the 93rd time.
Kate and The Book
Another important speaker at today’s lunch was Harold Mitchell, who has made his fortune through advertising. He declared China would become the world’s largest advertising market by 2030, and argued Australia should play an important role in skilling-up the future advertising industry there. “Australia represents only 0.4% of the world’s population, but 5% of the advertising market”, he told us, adding Australia could play a significant role in the development of the industry there by opening up to more students in advertising and marketing courses at universities here. “That means more students and easier access to visas, as well as placements in Australian companies after graduation”, he went on to say.
Kate and Bob
The other key speaker was Wu Shu Lin, Vice Minister, General Administration of Press and Publications for China, who argued books are an important way to encourage a dialogue between countries, and putting out the message China would like to see more Chinese books on the Australian market, and more Australian books on the Chinese market (translated of course).
The host for today’s lunch was Kevin Weldon, an Australian publishing giant who has done a fair deal of business in China over the years, and who was responsible for the book, “The New Long March” which was the reason why I was attending the lunch. My friend Catherine Croll (Kate) is one of four Western photographers (and the only Australian) whose work features in the very hefty, rather glossy photograph book. As an article in the China Daily notes…
In late September, Croll was invited to join China: The New Long March, a large media project organized by Qingdao Publishing Group and Australian Media Group Weldon International to celebrate the 75th anniversary of the Long March, the massive military retreat undertaken by the Red Army from Jiangxi to Shaanxi provinces to evade being pursued by the Kuomintang in 1934 and 1935. A select group of photographers from China and abroad were dispatched to sections along the route of the original Long March to put together a portrait of China today.
Kate invited me along to the lunch today where the book was officially launched. The photographs are wonderful, the book amazing, and I’m especially proud to see Kate’s work captured so beautifully. I’ll be spending the night going through it. Kate has yet to autograph my copy :)
Today I recorded a terrific interview for The Limb Shift podcast, launching this October for Amputee Awareness Week!
I spoke with Marny Cringle (who lives near Newcastle), who survived a horrific tube station incident at London’s Green Park in 1996, resuling in an above knee amputation, and some brain damage. After three years of intensive rehabilitation, she returned to nursing—adapting as an above-knee amputee—and even went on to compete internationally in wheelchair tennis.
On 1 December 1996, the life of Australian registered nurse Marny Cringle changed forever in the depths of the London Underground. Having spent two and a half years working in London trauma units and travelling through Europe, her vibrant working holiday came to a catastrophic halt at Green Park tube station. While waiting to catch a train, Marny suffered a horrific accident that resulted in her being run over and dragged by a tube train. The exact mechanics of the incident remain unknown and shrouded in post-traumatic amnesia.
As Marny later recalled in the interview for The Limb Shift podcast:
“I don’t know what happened… I was standing at the end of the platform”.
Investigators and a police colleague surmised that an unlocked platform gate may have swung open and struck her onto the tracks, or her long coat might have caught on the train. Ironically, the ambulance drivers who rushed her from the scene were paramedics she knew personally from her professional work in the hospital trauma unit.
The Physical Toll & Defying the Odds
The physical toll of the accident was catastrophic. Marny suffered:
Extensive fractures to every bone in her skull
Several areas of her brain were ripped out by the train
Her eyes were dislodged
Her left leg was traumatically removed by the train high above knee
Broke her back in several places
Multiple rib fractures with collapsed lungs and other injuries too many to mention.
While fighting for her life unconscious and on life support, she contracted meningitis. Marny’s medical team believed her injuries were completely incompatible with survival, and because of this, her life support was turned off but the pain killers remained to keep her comfortable. When Marny continue to live and breathe independently, she had a delayed closure of her traumatic above knee amputation (AKA) seven days later, the day before her birthday on 8 December 1996.
Defying all clinical expectations, Marny survived. However, she emerged from the trauma with a profound brain injury, twelve weeks of post-traumatic amnesia, and hemiparesis that left the left side of her body severely weakened.
Following three months of acute hospitalisation and intensive physiotherapy in London, Marny returned to Australia, where she spent a year residing in a transitional living unit in Newcastle to recover from her acquired brain injury (ABI) and to regain independent living skills.
Reclaiming Independence & Returning to Nursing
Medical professionals repeatedly cast doubt on her aspirations to reclaim her independent life, warning her that she would never nurse or drive again due to her cognitive impairments and lack of depth perception. Marny refused to accept these limitations. She rebuilt her physical capacity by swimming two kilometres every day to restore her collapsed lungs and drew upon her old knowledge while successfully completing nursing courses.
“Just under three years” after the accident, she successfully returned to her nursing career. Working on crutches, she adapted her clinical environment creatively, using deep storage containers to carry injection dishes and utilizing wheeled trolleys for dressings. Her career post-accident has spanned paediatrics, neonatal intensive care, aged care, medical / rehabilitation nursing and chronic disease management. In her professional life, her lived experience allowed her to connect deeply with other amputees experiencing phantom pain and early surgical recovery.
A World-First Medical Journey
For sixteen years following her accident, Marny was unable to successfully wear a conventional prosthetic limb due to her exceptionally short residual femur, which measured only five centimetres. After years of painful, unsuccessful prosthetic fittings between Newcastle and Sydney, she was introduced to pioneering prosthetic research.
To facilitate aprosthesis, Marny underwent a world-first surgical process to lengthen her residual bone using an external fixator. The procedure required immense grit; she continued working while manually turning a bone-lengthening screw every six hours to stretch the bone a quarter of a millimetre at a time. Once the femur successfully consolidated to the required length, Marny underwent a complex, multi-stage osseointegration procedure that enabled her to use a socket-free bionic leg. It was great to be walking again, but due to not weight bearing for 16 years, she developed stress fractures which meant the procedure had to be repeated and combined with a total hip replacement.
Elite Sports and New Passions
Parallel to her clinical career, Marny remained an avid sportsperson. Before her accident, she was a long-distance runner; afterward, she adapted her athletic pursuits with equal intensity. She excelled in equestrian dressage, won medals at state swimming championships, skied the slopes at Thredbo – first on one leg and later using a sit-ski – and went on to compete at an elite level in wheelchair tennis.
Marny eventually became the number one ranked seeded wheelchair tennis player in Australia, travelling internationally to compete in tournaments across America and Malaysia. In her later years, following hand fractures that limited her ability to grip a tennis racquet, she transitioned to playing wheelchair pickleball. Pickleball is a fast-growing paddle sport that blends elements of tennis, badminton, and table tennis, played on a smaller court with a low net. It uses solid paddles to hit a perforated, hollow plastic ball, making it highly accessible and fast-moving, particularly during close-range doubles rallies near the net.
Sharing Her Message: Small Steps, Big Outcomes
Marny has a book which documents her life experiences and incredible journey of survival, a memoir titled Small Steps Big Outcomes – how to change your circumstances for success.
Through her story, Marny hopes to show that taking small, consistent steps can lead to powerful outcomes. Above all, she wants to encourage others to recognise their own capabilities and realise that we all carry hidden reserves of potential.
Reflecting on her journey she observed that:
“Losing a limb has brought both challenges and unexpected gifts… It has shown me that strength is not measured by what we lose, but how we respond”.
Now aged 56 and temporarily living in a regional area outside Newcastle, Marny continues to navigate the long-term impacts of her injuries with pragmatism and vulnerability. Her daily reality involves a constant effort to manage ongoing physical issues. She recently had to undergo major emergency surgery, an event that left her less active and once again presented a hurdle to her mobility.
True to her nature, she remains determined, learning to use her bionic leg with one stick for a few hours a day and adapting her goals—such as striving to wear her leg for a performance just long enough to carry her violin onto the stage.
As she faces the natural progression of getting older, Marny is candid about the compounding challenges.
“As I’m getting older, things are deteriorating and more problems are arising,” she shared. “And I thought, I just don’t know where it’s going to go from here.”
Despite this uncertainty, her approach to the future focuses heavily on proactive management and meaningful engagement. She places immense value on keeping her mind sharp by playing the violin, sustaining her physical health through sports like pickleball, and nurturing good social connections.
For Marny, ageing means positively managing the structural issues that arise over time, ensuring she remains as healthy, active and connected as possible.
Ultimately, Marny’s path through profound physical and neurological trauma served as the foundation for her work as an inspirational speaker. Her enduring message to others facing profound adversity remains steadfastly optimistic:
“No matter what you have lost, no matter what challenge you face, your story is not over”.
Are you familiar with the unwritten “two pub” rule that seems to persist in Australian country towns? It’s a peculiar phenomenon where you’ll find two distinct pubs: one that’s the go-to spot for everyone in the community, and another that’s typically shunned, often frequented by itinerants and alcoholics. Strangely enough, this rule appears to extend beyond Australia, even to places like Narvik.
Curious about Narvik’s nightlife, I decided to venture out last night. My first stop was Narvikguten, drawn to its seemingly authentic, non-touristy ambiance. It turned out to be exactly that—a small bar with around a dozen patrons, most of whom seemed to be in various stages of inebriation. Picture a scene from an American western movie: as I entered, the room fell silent, and even the barmaid shot me a disapproving “we don’t like your type around here” glance.
Despite the unwelcoming atmosphere, I found myself committed after ordering my beer. As I sipped and nibbled on pretzels, the vibe in the pub hinted at an impending unpleasant turn of events. It was palpable—the anticipation of a later brawl brewing in the air.
Having swiftly finished my beer, I made my way to the more popular bar. Initially, it wasn’t as bustling as its reputation suggested, with around twenty people quietly enjoying their drinks. The highlight, however, was the unexpected soundtrack—ABBA Gold. It was a stark contrast to the past, considering that sixty years ago in Narvik, Frida was shunned as a “German Child,” and now her tunes were resonating through the jukebox.
As I leisurely sipped my beer, I observed the diverse crowd, which remained relatively sparse until around eleven-thirty. That’s when the scene transformed. Suddenly, hundreds of previously unseen young people in Narvik flocked to Kaffeteria. The resemblance to an Australian country town was uncanny—a genial giant circulated, engaging in lively conversations and dancing. A hen’s night party paraded in matching “Tove Drikkett Up” t-shirts. Mini-outfit-clad, bleach-blonde girls enjoyed their mystery drinks. It felt like a flashback to “The Vines” in Berri in 1990 or “Choices” in Wagga in 1993—reminiscent of any small country town in the Western world.
Amidst the crowd was a local guy who had returned from Oslo, greeted warmly in a “welcome back home” manner. Accompanying him was a woman forever etched in my memory as “Muriel” (for obvious reasons), a former local seemingly forgotten by everyone. Additionally, there was the Oslo friend, intermittently shooting me curious glances with a “Where the fuck am I, and what am I doing here?” expression.
The quirk with the midnight sun became apparent: time becomes elusive. Around ten o’clock, I passed a group enjoying a dinner party in broad daylight—how did they gauge the hour without checking their watches? Strolling home at one in the morning still presented broad daylight. In Sydney, such a journey after a night out would be deemed a “walk of shame,” but here, it’s just routine. Renovation work on the street persists until ten each night, a norm in this land of perpetual daylight and darkness.
Contemplating kids playing outdoors, I wondered how they discern dinner or bedtime. In Narvik, where residents endure six months of continuous daylight and six months of near darkness, locals must possess an innate sense of time.
Today was a day of absolute leisure for me. After ten days of active sightseeing, a break was overdue. I napped, penned letters home, and indulged in Sunday television, an odd experience with news slides accompanied by BBC Radio audio and a channel featuring sports teams lip-synching to hits. The extent of my exertion was walking into town to make calls, revealing the frustrating reality of Telstra’s international roaming limitations—receiving calls and texts, but unable to make any.
The weather remained splendid. A stroll into town demanded no more than shorts, a t-shirt, and thongs. While not the typical Australian summer, it felt more like late winter or early spring. The occasional sun intensified, gently warming faces. Yet, signs of a chilly night loom with more snow on the nearby mountain, prompting locals to bundle up. It seems like it’s time to head back south.
For about a year now, I’ve been using a temporary prosthetic leg, thanks to Enable NSW. It’s a state government initiative, though it’s actually funded by the Federal Government. The temporary leg was necessary for a few reasons, primarily because residual limb volume can fluctuate significantly in the first few years after an amputation. To manage this, I wear a shrinker at night to help my residual limb maintain a consistent size and shape.
Today, I received my brand new prosthetic leg! It’s lighter and smaller than the temporary one, and I’m hoping it will be more flexible thanks to a new foot and ankle.
While many people choose to personalize their prosthetics with designs featuring everything from spider webs to their favorite bands or sports teams, I opted for a more natural look. I thought of it as a flesh tone, but my prosthetist called it beige. (So boring!) The past year has taught me that it’s more fun to accessorize with seasonal decorations for holidays like Christmas or Mardi Gras than to commit to a permanent design.
I’ve been warned that breaking in a new prosthetic can be uncomfortable, but so far, so good! I’ve decided to name this leg “Albert” after my dad, and I plan to name my future waterproof prosthetic “Bertha” after my mum. They’ve both been instrumental in helping me walk, both literally and figuratively.
It’s just a day of travelling for me. I’ve got to catch a flight between London and Paris, and when I arrive I’m being picked up by my friend David.
Getting to Luton today has been a bit of an exercise. Paul and I stayed last night at the house of a mate of his (who was an excellent host… and nice bloke… and cute) not far from Wimbledon. This morning we’ve had to travel a long way, and catch several trains, to get back to Paul’s place to pick up the rest of my luggage.
Paul’s been an excellent guide and a great mate to have in London.
Last night we went to a bar called “Duckie”. I don’t exactly know where it is, but it was great fun. “Duckie”, as I recall was the word Dudley Butterfield from Number 96 used when addressing most people. “How are you duckie?”, he used to say, as I recall.
The bar also brought back a memory. I saw a bloke there I remember from at least twenty years ago while I was living in Brisbane. I don’t remember his name, and I don’t remember how I met him. But I recognised his face, and I recognised the Mickey Mouse t-shirt that he wore back then, which he was still wearing now.
Apparently most of the shows at Duckie are Arts Council (or similarly) funded, so they often verge on the experimental, which makes for a great fun night out. The music also tends to be a little more cutting edge than you would find in a bar in Sydney. But not inaccessible in any way. In fact, it was music totally targetted towards a similarly aged group of men who like to go out on Saturday night for a laugh.
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I watched the launch of ABC News 24 and have dropped in regularly since.
It is looking pretty good. I think it is very much modelled on the BBC World Service; even the music is similar.
I agree about the clock and I think the bottom banner could contain a greater variety of messages than is being displayed so far but it is early days and I’m sure the service will improve further.
I watched the launch of ABC News 24 and have dropped in regularly since.
It is looking pretty good. I think it is very much modelled on the BBC World Service; even the music is similar.
I agree about the clock and I think the bottom banner could contain a greater variety of messages than is being displayed so far but it is early days and I’m sure the service will improve further.
What clock?
As you say that it is a female colleague, I gather it was not Jeremy who was moving to Melbourne. What a shame.
It’s a little clock in the bottom right hand corner. Of course it might be my crap old CRT TV, but it’s just too small for me to read it properly.