Tired
That’s all I have to say. Tired.
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Poetry, Art and a Haircut
I fondly recall the last time I attended a public poetry night in Lismore, though it’s been quite a while. The memory that stands out is the gathering was at The Rous Hotel, where I unexpectedly encountered my former high school teacher, Kerry Balzer, who shared her poetry. Her genuine pleasure at my continued interest in poetry, beyond high school, warmed me. She died a few years ago.
In my high school days, poetry was a passion of mine. I studied English to 3-Unit level in the NSW Higher School Certificate. I remember studying the likes of Australian luminaries, Les Murray and Bruce Dawe. They might still be on the HSC reading list today? However, it was the poetry of Gerard Manly Hopkins, perhaps resonating with my Catholic upbringing, that left the most indelible mark on me.
For the HSC, I produced a volume of poetry that my teacher thought was very good. There were moments of brilliance, he said, but also areas of inconsistency. I have no idea where that volume of poetry is. It probably washed away in a flood. I can still remember elements of the works though,
This week, I saw an advertisement for a poetry night at The Metropole Hotel and felt compelled to attend. Among the attendees was Mariska Pinkerton, a local poet with a well-known Lismore surname who I chatted with early in the night. We talked about David Hallet, the organiser of the night, who I first encountered during my days as a teenage community radio volunteer, organizing poetry events even then.
David’s enduring passion for poetry was evident as he led the evening’s festivities. Despite the modest turnout, the ambiance of the open area at the pub made for a very pleasant evening. A highlight of the night was the performance by visiting Melbourne poet Koraly Dimitriadis, who had a very theatrical, raw style of performance.
Today, I visited the “Earth Matter” exhibition at the Lismore Regional Gallery. Despite the gallery’s flood damage a couple of years ago, they have a temporary storefront exhibition space on Magellan Street. A smaller space, but still great works. The work that captivated me most today was a piece titled “Connection” by artist Lae Oldmeadow, which I thought was reminiscent of entwined serpents.
As for the exhibition overall…
Earth Matter” brings together artists who utilize natural materials to explore diverse themes, from the beauty of nature to environmental activism. Each work embodies a message about our relationship with the natural world, urging us to cherish and preserve it for posterity.”
https://lismoregallery.org/earth-matter
I only dropped in to the gallery by chance, as I was waiting for an appointment at the nearby barber shop, which happened to be closed for lunch
Upon arriving at the barber shop after lunch, they promptly offered me a slot.
“I’m attending a school reunion,” I told the barber, “and I need to spruce up a bit.” After a few minutes of conversation, he mentioned that his mother attended the same school as I did, albeit a few years earlier.
“What was her name?” I asked, to which he replied, “Shirley O’Brien.”
“She’s my cousin, and we spoke yesterday, and your Aunty Rosie has come to visit too.”, I told him. Being twenty years younger than me, he seemed genuinely shocked that I knew so much about his heritage, including knowing his late nan, who was married to my dad’s brother. “She had a great garden”, he remembered of her house in North Lismore.
But hey, that’s small town life.
Swedish Summertime
It’s mid-afternoon and I’m sitting in a park on Djurgarden, one of the many islands of Stockholm. And I’m doing exactly what thousands of people are doing here right now: sitting around doing nothing andenjoying the Swedish summer. The weather’s been great all day. In fact it was hot for a while earlier today and I had to put my silly hat on, which makes me look so much like a tourist.
I haven’t begun wearing those backpacker sandals though yet. And I could never wear them with socks which, tragically, seems to happen all too frequently here. I saw a young kid at the airport yesterday wearing socks and sandals and had to stop myself from going up to him and begging him to stop wearing them before it was too late.
As well as a couple of doe-eyed couples looking longingly at each other, and another single male backpacker nearby, there are family groups everywhere. It’s school holidays here right now.
This morning at breakfast the hostel was packed to the rafters with kids, which immediately prompted me to set the alarm for about an hour earlier tomorrow.
There’s also thousands of Americans in town. Their presence has really surprised me, since I never thought of Sweden in summer as an American tourist destination. But they’re everywhere, and that accent can be heard everywhere loudly and regularly.
And the gays have started to arrive for Europride, which is at the end of the month. As I got on the bus a little while ago, I saw a couple of Russians (I later discovered) who gave me that up and down look and a “knowing smile”. We chatted ever so briefly in broken English. Which reminds me, I’ve decided I don’t particularly like Swedish gays. They’re all a bit too girly, in my humble opinion.
This was particularly evident in an exhibition which I just visited at Djurgarden about gays working on the Swedish-American shipping line during the 1940s to 1970s. Lots of camp, lots of draq, you get the idea. I suspect The Other Andrew would really like the exihibition as it has some of those classic gay images he likes so much. It’s a good exhibition, and one I’d recommend, based on a book by Arne Nilsson.
I found out about earlier today, as I spent a bit of time this morning at the main arts centre in Stockholm. They have a newspaper reading room up there with delightful views of the city. You can just go in there and read the papers and no one bothers you. I was surrounded by lots of old blokes who obviously couldn’t afford the papers.
I sat there going through as many of the “what’s on” sections of newspapers I could find, trying to work out how I’m going to spend my days here. I can’t just wander around aimlessly. That’s just not my thing. So I’ve found some music to go and see (I’ve already been to a lunchtime jazz concert) as well as a few exhibitions here and there.
Walking through the city today, I also came across a pretty funny exhibition, actually, featuring road signs from around the world. It’s fairly US-based, and so a lot of the humour derives from Americans laughing at examples of bad English translations. I was more amused by the American signs. I mean, they speak English and they still manage to get it wrong.
Anyway, I’m heading back to the hostel for a little lie-down before heading over to Sodermalm tonight.
Alan Partridge
We knew within seconds we were in the “wrong movie”. We had already felt a little uncomfortable about the size of the crowd and theatre, expecting a much larger crowd in a much larger theatre. But we sat there, chatting, half-watching the ads, until the opening credits appeared and within seconds we realised we were in the wrong theatre. We got up quickly, found the right theatre, and then made our way to the second front row, as the much larger theatre was close to capacity.
We knew little about the film, except that it was based around the fictional character of small-town radio announcer, Alan Partridge. Since we both work in radio, my colleague/friend and I thought it would be fun to go to. Indeed, there are lots of very funny “radio jokes”, and there were lots of moments when we both laughed out loud, making comparisons in our minds between some of the extreme egotism of the character, as an amplified version of the some of the behaviour we sometimes seem in our colleagues.
There were so many moments when we, and all of the cinema, laughed out loud at the roller-coaster of unexpected twists and turns the movie took. There were no moments of predictability. The film romped along at a cracker pace, and importantly, was about the right length. Despite the comic value of it all, the film has heart, and despite the sometimes farcical comedy, all of the characters were, in their own ways, totally believable.
It’s definitely a film I’d like to see again, as I’m sure there are moments, actions and lines I’d probably pick up on which were maybe lost on first viewing. I’d also like to see the first couple of minutes we missed from being in the wrong cinema.
Lovely Package
After few days on the road it was nice to come home to my own bed tonight.
But on checking the letterbox there was further reason to be happy; an envelope from Ireland which I’ve been anticipating for a few weeks Unfortunately the volcanic eruption has held up the mail somewhat, so I’ve needed to hold on that little bit longer for some court records relating to one of my ancestors, James Laing.
I knew a little about him, but the records tonight from fellow researcher, Ann Murray Burke, have helped fill in many of the gaps.
The story of James is quite an interesting one.
He was born in Stonehaven (a seaside town on Scotland’s north east coast) near Aberdeen, (probably) on Sunday 18 June 1815.
When convicted of housebreaking in 1835, he stated he was “bred of a cartwright and since 1929 has been going on voyages as a sailor between Scotland and Quebec” and that he moved to Edinburgh in May that year.
His convict records state that, by modern standards, he was a short man, (1.63m tall), with a dark sallow complexion, brown almost black hair and brown eyes. He also had a small mole on the upper part of his right arm and a scar on the back of his right thumb.
On the 20th day of August 1835, the court records state, he and fifteen year old Addison Mitchell conducted break and enters on two houses in Elm Row, Edinburgh.
The first was at the house of James Thomson on Elm Row, Edinburgh where they stole the following items: a black cloth coat; a silver snuff-box; a pair of leather gloves; two or thereby silk handkerchiefs; and two or thereby pass keys.
The second was at the house of David Brown, a tailor and clothier on Elm Row, where they stole the following items: a silver watch; a silk watch ribbon; a gold ring; a gold seal; a gold key; and, belonging to David Brown’s daughter Helen, “a worsted shawl”.
At conviction, the court records note that both young men had appeared before Magistrate John Fletcher on August 25 and before Magistrate James Donaldson on August 27 where some of the stolen items were presented as evidenced against them.
On November 9, 1835, he was found guilty of housebreaking and was sentenced to seven years transportation.
In sentencing them, the court records note that Addison Mitchell had previous convictions in Edinburgh on July 8, 1834 and June 16, 1835.
The Scotsman newspaper reported the case thus…
High Court of Justiciary. Addison Mitchell and James Laing were next brought up, charged with two acts of theft, one of them committed by means of housebreaking, aggravated in the case of Mitchell, by his being, habit and repute, and previously convicted of theft. The prisoners having pleaded guilty, Mitchell was sentenced to fourteen years, and Laing seven years transportation.
Soon after coming to Australia he met and married Isabella Mclean, the daughter of Allan McLean and Janet McFarlane from the Isle of Coll in the Inner Hebrides.
Before coming to Australia, the records indicate, she had been “in service” at Glasgow and could speak a little English. Aged twenty, she came to Australia with her parents and younger siblings, settled in the Broulee area (near Moruya), where her father worked as a boat-builder.
The birth records of the children of James and Isabella indicates they spent the early years of their marriage living and working on a number of properties in the Moruya district, including Duga (1843), Glenduart (1844-1847) and Shannon View (owned by Flanagan) (1850) before moving to Braidwood (1852) at the peak of gold mining in the area.
By the 1860s, however, James and Isabella had moved to Towamba, near Eden where they farmed for the rest of their lives.
His death was reported in The Bega Standard in 1890.
Mr. James LAING another old resident recently deceased left three sons and three daughters, who have all large families. The deceased was born on the day the Battle of Waterloo was fought, and although thousands of miles from his birthplace, strange to say he died while a rifle match was being shot off. ‘Bega Standard’ – 12 August, 1890
Interestingly, the obituary mentions nothing about his convict past.
Anyway, that’s how I’ve spent my Friday night… transcribing records… listening to the radio… and generally, just relaxing.
Pub Night
Lots of highlights from work throughout the day, but nothing I’m going to write about here.
Instead, I’ll draw your attention to the photographs Graeme has posted of our “Wednesday Nights” at the pub.
It’s the night I lovingly describe as my “AA Meeting”.
I remember the first time I used the phrase, toungue-in-cheek, at work, and received the following response.
“Oh James, I think it’s great that you’re going to AA. I didn’t know you had a problem. Good luck…” No sense of irony, eh?
I then explained it was “ABBA Anonymous” and it all suddenly made sense… Hehehe
Completely Hooked
Since I got my “internet radio” the other day I’ve been listening a lot to the Swedish radio station, P3 – Svea. P3 is the national public sector youth network in Sweden, though more like Radio 1 in the UK than Triple J in Australia. P3 Svea is one their “break out” stations which plays Swedish artists exclusively. There’s a bit of pop, a bit of hip hop, some rock, some indie, a bit of everything really, with the common denominator being that it’s Swedish.
Since tuning in there have been some great new acts I’ve discovered, which I otherwise couldn’t find by checking the charts. One such act is Johan Borgert and Holy Madre, and the song “Smalfilm” in particular.
My friend Grant described it in these terms..
It’s an interesting song which I think could be a real grower. Although it didn’t grab me at first, I’m finding it oddly compelling.
…and I agree with him totally.
The melody line is very catchy… The version they’re playing on the radio can be downloaded from the band’s website…
http://holymadre.blogspot.com/2010/02/smalfilm-ny-singel-gratis.html
Ladda ner den här. (Högerklick och spara)
(download here, right click and save)
I haven’t translated the song yet, but it seems to be about someone reflecting on a reckless youth, and being older now, and looking to settle down.
Johan has put a version on Youtube recorded in his bedroom which is “very acoustic” but which also gives you a clear ear for the melody.
Interestingly, the song is based on the original Dutch song which has a crazy-mad videoclip. Peter, can you help with an interpretation?
So yeah, that’s my Monday (outside work), listening to Swedish pop.
Oh yeah, and complaining about the cold, wet, dark conditions.
We’ve been lucky with summer being so long this year, so the arrival of winter has been rather sudden.
Still, I’m off to Melbourne this week, so I’d better get used to it. According to a colleague, the phrase “layers” springs to mind when I begin packing tonight.
I note the temperature in Stockholm will be higher than the temperature in Melbourne this week.