Swedish TV interviews local police about the crowd attending the birthday celebration for the King of Sweden
May Day speeches in the centre of Stockholm
As I made my way to the Royal Palace in Stockholm yesterday for the regular “changing of the guard”, I knew something was different about this time. The crowds were much larger than the last time I’d been here, which I simply put down to the much warmer weather.
As I looked around, I noticed there were also a number of television crews. As well as SVT, there were also crews from Norway and Germany. The Queen of Sweden has German heritage, so I thought it might have something to do with her. And then I noticed a roped off area, with a sign saying it was “for press only”. The possibility of a little bit of “press exclusivity” always excites me, and so I wandered over and asked the bloke behind the media counter what was going on. “It’s the King’s birthday. He’s 67 years old”, he told me with a large beaming smile.
Though I’m sure there were quite a few Swedes in the crowd, my ears told me the crowd consisted mostly of Germans, Russians and Italians. I’m not sure how many of them knew it was the birthday of the king. Although I didn’t actually see it myself, I heard the cheers when the royal couple came out on the balcony and waved to everyone.
“How interesting”, I thought to myself, “that the King has his birthday on the day before May Day”. May Day, you see, is quite an important public holiday here. Unlike in Australia, where it’s joined the list of holidays we have but don’t really know why (hey, we celebrate Labor Day in October in NSW), there are parades and speeches here.
As I watched the speeches briefly at Sergel’s Torg today, I noticed the involvement of good old fashioned Communists. The Communist Party was, until fairly recently, a minor but significant force in Swedish politics. Even though the current government is a “centre-right” coalition, the Social Democrats have been in power for most of the last century. And when I say “centre-right coalition”, I suspect few if any of the Swedish government could find a home in the modern day Australian Liberal Party. “They’re all lefties in Sweden”, I recall once telling someone, “except when they’re Neo-Nazis”. But that’s another story…
“When it rains in Sydney, it really bloody rains”, I noted to my friend Sue visiting from Melbourne.
Melbourne has its perpetual awful weather, whereas Sydney has awful weather on occasion. While in Melbourne it may be overcast most of the day with drizzle, in Sydney, our weather is usually characterised by bright sunny days followed by a late afternoon or evening torrential downpour. That’s why, oddly enough, Sydney has a higher level of rainfall than Melbourne.
Sue and I had planned to go down to the harbour to see the Light Festival, and had worked out all of the contingencies including buss timetables.
We were both extremely hungry though, and so had decided to head along Crown Street for something to eat first. My suggested location was Agave, a new Mexican restaurant which has recently opened in the same building as Hudson’s Meats and Monkey Magic, which Colin and I visited a few weeks ago.
Rainy Night on Crown Street
We both LOVE Mexican food. “If it contains sour cream, I’ll be there”, Sue commented when I suggested the place. Interestingly enough, neither one of our meals contained sour cream!
When we entered the place was almost empty. When we left it was packed to the rafters. And a bit noisy.
The sangria was excellent. The chorizo was excellent (the accompany tomato sauce was brilliant). I thought the chicken dish with a slightly chocolately sauce was terrific, though Sue found it a little rich. Overall, we had a great meal, and it wasn’t too expensive either. Forty dollars per head.
As we walked back up Crown Street towards the bus stop near Arthur Street the rain came pelting down. It only took us about 30 seconds of standing in the bus shelter to look at each other, and to agree that going home and watching television/DVDs was a far better option for the night, than going down to Circular Quay and getting wet.
Besides, we were both soaked by the time we got home, and that was with umbrellas, and only a short distance away.
I’m keen to go back to Agave if anyone is interested…
Being home for Easter is an opportunity to catch up with family, both the living and the dead. And today we visited a few cemeteries around the area, including Memorial Garden at South Gundurimba, about fifteen minutes drive from Lismore. It’s a small cemetery “in the middle of nowhere” with not many graves at all. It’s also on the back road between Lismore and Grafton, and so I guess many people pass it on the road without even realising it’s there.
Winifred Atwell memorial at South Gundurimba near Lismore, NSW, Australia
The cemetery’s most famous resident is Winifred Atwell, a Trinidad-born pianist who was very popular in the 1950s and 1960s with a series of boogie woogie and ragtime hits. According to Wikipedia, “She was the first black person to have a number one hit in the UK Singles Chart, and still the only female instrumentalist to do so.”
A recent article in the local newspaper, The Northern Star describes her connection with the area and why she came to be buried on the North Coast right next to her husband whose own death preceded hers by six years.
Ms Atwell and her husband, Lew Levisohn, had lived on Sydney’s Northern Beaches for many years after emigrating here and becoming Australian citizens. “But on a drive (around the Northern Rivers) they spotted the tiny Lismore Memorial Garden Cemetery, South Gundurimba, and fell in love with its beauty and tranquillity. “It is quite a thing for such an iconic entertainer to be buried at a little cemetery in the middle of nowhere.” The couple also had a longstanding friendship with a now deceased Catholic priest Father Jim Carney, who was serving at Coraki when Mr Levisohn died, said Ms Preston. It was reported that Father Carney had been kind to the couple in Mr Levisohn’s final days and it was Ms Atwell’s wish that he be buried by Father Carney near to his parish and that she be buried beside her beloved husband when the time came.
Winifred Atwell grave at South Gundurimba near Lismore, NSW, Australia
Although I’m not what you would call a great fan of Winifred Atwell, I do remember with certain fondness seeing (as a child) her performances on television programs like “The Two Ronnies” and “The Mike Walsh Show”.
And I hope, Harold who I know through ABBAMAIL and ABBA Village and who has a wonderful story of having met Winifred Atwell enjoys, at last, seeing her grave and having it confirmed she is buried next to her late husband. I also thought it was interesting to see fresh flowers on both their graves, and to also see the small memorial to a great talent who died almost thirty years ago.
PS : September 2022
Sometime in the last year or two, the grave has had an appropriate “upgrade”.
PPS. My uncle Oswald (Ossie) Ianna is also buried there, and my aunty Edna will also be there one day.
Lately, I’ve been recording some incredible interviews for my Limb Shift podcast. This episode features the brilliant Madeleine Stewart. Born with a limb difference, Madeleine wore a prosthetic arm for several years before deciding it wasn’t for her. She is a talented actor, comedian, and passionate disability advocate—and, quite frankly, she’s awesome.
“It’s not inspiration, it’s not pity, it’s normal. It’s saying you’re different, but we accept you and you’re just like us”. This philosophy serves as the cornerstone of Madeleine’s mission, a vibrant and unapologetic voice currently reshaping the Australian creative landscape.
Born in 1994, Madeleine entered the world on the twenty-sixth of May weighing just 1.1 kilograms, a “miracle baby” with one arm. Today, she stands as a multi-hyphenate artist—a comedian, actor, advocate, and filmmaker—whose work challenges the reductive narratives that have long defined the disability experience.
Growing up, Madeleine’s connection to the disability community was virtually non-existent, leaving her to navigate the complexities of her identity largely on her own. Her early life was spent navigating constant medical intervention, primarily at Westmead Children’s Hospital, where she was fitted for prosthetic arms she found largely alienating.
“I thought hospitals are for sick people or for people in pain, and I wasn’t sick and I wasn’t in pain,” she recalls. “I thought I felt normal, I felt healthy, I felt like every other kid, but I was treated differently and I couldn’t understand why”.
The physical impact of these early prosthetics was also significant and painful. Madeleine describes how, as a young girl, the devices were forced into sockets that caused rashes, itchiness, and ongoing pain while “hanging off the joint of my elbow”.
Beyond the discomfort, the practical limitations were stark. She recalls a childhood memory of playing in a “play maze” and becoming caught in the netting by her prosthetic arm, left hanging and calling for her mother while dozens of other parents looked on.
This incident cemented her view that the prosthetic was a hindrance rather than a tool, stating, “I naturally wanted to do things with one hand and I just couldn’t into the two-handed life”.
These medical challenges were compounded by the financial realities of the era. Growing up in the nineties and early two-thousands, before the implementation of the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS)—an Australian government program designed to provide funding and support for people with permanent and significant disabilities—obtaining prosthetic limbs required a complex and often demoralising process of grassroots fundraising.
Madeleine describes having to visit Rotary Clubs to “sing my sad little song” to secure financial support for her artificial arms, with costs split between hospitals, local charities, and her own family. This constant pressure to justify her need for equipment through charity—often without anyone asking for her personal input or consent—left a lasting mark on her self-esteem. “A lot of effort, a lot of charity, a lot of singing my sad song, and that really cuts away at your self-esteem from a young age,” she reflects.
Her path to self-acceptance was paved by the unexpected influence of science fiction. When she was nervous about entering primary school, her brother introduced her to Star Wars and the character of Luke Skywalker. Seeing Luke embrace his mechanical hand as the tool of a Jedi rather than a sign of brokenness was transformative. “The confidence I had, I truly believed that I was a Jedi,” Madeleine says. “He restored peace to the galaxy. And he has one arm just like you”, her brother told her.
As Madeleine transitioned into adulthood, she found that the professional world—specifically the theatre industry—was far less welcoming. She was frequently told there was “no place for me in the industry”. Rather than retreating, she turned to the one space where she could reclaim her narrative: comedy.
A pivotal moment in her development occurred when she was sixteen and attended a show by Adam Hills, a celebrated Australian comedian and television presenter also known for his advocacy and Paralympic sport coverage. Madeleine waited to speak with him after the performance, and he encouraged her to pursue comedy.
However, Hills offered a candid piece of advice regarding the visibility of her limb difference. “He said that he for years was able to have, in his words, the luxury of being able to hide his disability and get his craft as a comedian like anyone else,” Madeleine explains.
“And he said, unfortunately, everyone’s going to see that you have one arm instantly, so you’re going to have to make jokes about disability”. Madeleine took this advice to heart, finding that “people are like, okay, we’re comfortable with this now. And then you can go on and talk about whatever you want”.
Madeleine’s comedy is marked by a sharp, cheeky subversion of how society perceives disability. This is evident in her creative output, including her ABC documentary and SBS podcast, both of which tackle the often-taboo subjects of intimacy and sexuality for people with disabilities.
She views these projects as vital for breaking down the dehumanising myths that follow disabled people into adulthood. “I just find it fascinating that people think that we can’t have sex or date,” Madeleine explains. “I think that people have these assumptions and people don’t know. And I think that it’s a, it’s a humanity thing. It’s about humanness of all of us”.
In her documentary and podcast work, she explores how a lack of adequate sex education in school left her and many others in the dark. “For me, it’s just like, oh, really? Really? So it’s like just basic sex ed baffled me during that podcast”.
Beyond education, she champions the inventiveness of the disabled community. “I think that is genius, the way that we can solve things, the way that we can go. Yeah, let’s figure this out”.
Madeleine’s work also acts as a rigorous critique of “inspiration porn”—the tendency of media to frame the daily lives of disabled people as inherently heroic. She notes that even her own film, designed to highlight the toxicity of such tropes, was met with praise that missed the mark. “The most common thing people say to me afterwards was how inspired they were on my film. And I just think I literally just look at them and go, did you watch the film?”.
Maddie appears in the film “Diving In” with fellow Limb Shift interview, Adam Bowes.
Despite the frustrations of existing in a world still grappling with ableism, Madeleine remains stubbornly optimistic. She sees the current rise in representation—and the increasing public discourse around neurodivergence and disability advocacy—as a necessary step toward genuine empathy.
“Every disabled person has friends and family and like a community around them, people who know them and care about them. And that that is advocacy too, because you’re showing people around you that you’re not this stereotype”.
Looking ahead, Madeleine is embracing a “semi-sabbatical” to recalibrate her creative output, stepping back from the relentless pace of her previous years to ask: “What do I actually want to create?”.
As she balances the two “trains” of comedy and advocacy, her long-term goal remains consistent: to ensure that the future of representation looks exactly like the inclusive, vibrant world she once saw on Playschool—a world where difference is acknowledged, but fundamentally, everyone is just normal.
Abril Felman
Madeleine’s journey is far from over, but she has already succeeded in shifting the spotlight, forcing audiences to see past the arm, past the “inspiration,” and directly into the reality of a human experience that is rich, funny, and entirely her own.
The audio from this interview will be featured in The Limb Shift later in the year. Click on the links above for Spotify, Apple and Youtube to follow the launch.
In the back of my mind, there’s a vague fragment of a slither of a memory of having seen a production of “The Glass Menagerie” about twenty-five years ago (or more likely more) at a theatre in Brisbane. La Boite Theatre, maybe? Even so, my memory doesn’t extend much beyond the image of a woman sitting at the front of the stage obsessing over her small glass figurines. Without much of a memory beyond that, being Tennesee Williams, I just assumed there would have been repressed homosexual men with alcohol problems and unsatisfied women with mental health issues. I’m being silly of course, but you have to admit, these are characteristics you do find in other works by him including “Cat On A Hot Tin Roof” and “A Streetcar Named Desire” which are two of my favouite plays of all time.
Image from Belvoir Street Theatre.
As we made our way to Belvoir Street Theatre last night, Sue read out loud the article on Wikipedia outlining the plot until the point where we both decided we had reached “spoiler” territory. But in short, and without a spoiler, it’s a play set in 1910/1920s America, the South, about a woman and her two children, none of whom are very happy with their lives. The mother was deserted by her husband many years ago, forcing her to raise her children by herself, both of whom she describes as “not normal”: the daughter has a slight disability, and the son goes out drinking most nights, with a slight suggestion he might also be homosexual. The plot-line centres around the mother’s desire for her daughter to be “married off before it’s too late”.
Before the play started last night the director came out to explain this was the first public preview after an intense week of technical rehearsals. “This could be really good or you might be witnessing one of the worst, most memorable moments of Australian theatre”, he joked. It was pretty evident shortly into the production why the technical rehearsals had been so intense: this production relies HEAVILY (in the first half at least) on video effects. Screens to the left and right of the stage feature images captured from on-stage cameras in the style, I’m guessing, of a 1940s movie. Sue and I both agreed the reliance on the narrator on stage to have to move the cameras around became distracting. We both found we sometimes spent more time watching him than we did watching the action on stage. The set, although really clever, was also a little distracting, as much of the action took place at the back of the stage behind a flimsy see-through curtain. We both really understood what they’re trying to achieve with the set and video, but it just didn’t do it for us.
Which is a shame, because it’s a really good play. “It’s much more complex than I’d imagined”, I whispered to Sue at one point. If you’ve grown up in a family with any degree of dysfunctionality, you’ll immediately realise how believably flawed the characters are. The performance by the actor who played the daughter, Laura was, in particular, really good: really honest, really authentic etc.
It will be interesting to see how audiences and critics judge the production as it opens in coming weeks, being mindful of what the director said last night.
“You’ve lost a lot of weight. You look fantastic” is the most common phrase I’ve heard this year, usually followed shortly afterwards by a secondary question, almost whispered, “You’re okay, aren’t you?”. “Yes I’m OK”, I’ve told lots of people this year, as they’ve queried my weight loss. Although not as much as I’d hoped, I’ve slimmed down a bit this year thanks to the combination of “low levels of exercise, sensible eating, and a reduced level of alcohol consumption”.
Magic eh? I haven’t changed my lifestyle in any kind of radical way, I’ve just been a little more “sensible”. The result is I’m now down to about 75-78kg which is still overweight for someone my height, but getting much closer to what I should be. Hey, I remember being over 100kg only a few years ago. So it’s definitely a year for celebration in that part of my life. I guess part of the reason I’ve also lost weight this year was that I took a few months off work to travel to Sweden, Iceland, Germany, The Netherlands, Denmark and Turkey.
This was my fourth trip to Stockholm in five years. Every visit seems to get a little longer. I’ve concluded I’ve “lived” in Stockholm for about six months over the last five years. Although I still haven’t met my goal of living in Stockholm for an extended period, I feel like I’m getting there incrementally.
Having experienced a bit of winter, two summers, and two springs, I’ve concluded May is probably the best month of the year in Stockholm. There’s a wonderful optimism about the place, thanks to the warmer weather.
Although I love snow and ice, the period between the winter months and the warmer months (when everyone leaves for a few weeks), is definitely a very liveable period there. While there I developed a lovely routine, as I was able to stay in apartments (thanks to airbnb). It was a really relaxing period for me. I loved it very much, as you’ll see if you read some of my blogposts from this time. I’m toying with the idea of heading to Stockholm Pride in 2014, and maybe an adventure further up north.
Anzac Day in Turkey – Looking out to the TV sceens with the cliffs in the background.
As I wrote at the time…
There was a point half way through the day when I couldn’t stop giggling. Along with the rest of the tour group, I was standing on a beach on the south east coast of Iceland. We were all very cold and it was snowing. The on-line brochure and accompanying research I’d done before-hand suggested clear blue skies as a backdrop to viewing a series of large basalt structures in the ocean. As we stood there, peering out through the snow, and desperately trying not to fall over (due to the wind gusts), I kept thinking how wonderfully ridiculous it all was.
This year I also went to my first ABBA Day in Europe and to the Official Opening of the ABBA Museum in Stockholm, both of which were memorable moments, and which I wrote about in the ABBA Magazine and spoke about on ABC Radio on several occasions.
ABBA Quiz Winners
Fireworks for the ABBA Museum Opening
A few months later I travelled to South Africa, where I was invited to speak at a radio conference at the Wits University. It was a really interesting time to be there, as it was the time when the health of Nelson Mandela really plumetted. Indeed, there was a general belief in South Africa at the time he had already died and was being kept alive artificially. In many ways, it was a life changing experience, as I got to meet and chat with locals there, and gain an insight into their lives which went beyond what I read about and watch through the prism of journalists. As I blogged at the time…
Interview with Mo-G at Kaya FM in Johannesburg
“We still live with apartheid”, the bloke in the bar told me. He told me of the sadness he felt that the man who parked his car for him tonight was old enough to be his father. “I’m doing fine because I went to university, but these people are still recovering financially from all of those years.”, he said. When I asked him how long it would be before the years of inequality would be left behind he told me he didn’t know, though conceding it would be decades, not years. Both he and my driver expressed concern about what might occur in South Africa following the death of Nelson Mandela. My driver, in particular, told me he thought there would be some blood-shed. His argument was Mandela was the uniting force which held the nation together amidst long-running arguments. In stark contrast, I’ve also been advised these kind of arguments are somewhat alarmist, since Mandela hasn’t been a major public force in South Africa for at least a decade. When I asked the bloke in the bar tonight why he thought Mandela was being kept alive, he was at first taken aback. “How do you know he’s dead?”, he asked me with a wry smile. When I told him that’s what all of the papers are now saying, he told me no one is really willing to say that publicly here. Both he and my driver told me they thought the key issue was an argument amongst Mandela’s children and grandchildren over both property (there’s a photograph in particular that’s worth a lot of money, apparently) and about where Mandela should be buried. There’s a complicated story about how one of Mandela’s grandchildren has exhumed the bodies of three of Mandela’s children and moved them to his own property. There’s a legal battle underway about this, and I guess in the background to there’s an underlying concern about who will “own” Mandela’s body when he dies.
Did I mention I also met a really nice bloke there? :)
My friend Sue came along with me for two or three weeks of my trip to Europe and remarkably we didn’t kill each other. I say that with humour, as there’s always the potential for conflict when friends and family travel together. We also travelled together to Tasmania, and we’re planning a trip to China together in May. The fact we didn’t want to kill each other means we obviously have a friendship that’s matured and firmly cemented itself over the thirty-something years we’ve known each.
Other friendships haven’t gone so well, and later in the year, a friend and I had a “discussion” about how our friendship had changed/disintegrated over the last year or so. That happens, I guess, over time. I guess part of the problem is that we’re both a little “high maintenance” and maybe a little bit “on the spectrum” in many ways. Hopefully 2014 will be better.
Robert and Sandra
As part of my travel, I also got to know Robert and Sandra who live in Stockholm a little better. We’ve been internet buddies for about three or four years now. As I spent a lengthier period of time in Stockholm this year I got to know them better and concluded pretty quickly, “I really, really like these guys”. Long distance friendships aren’t easy for me. I’m not one for chit-chat. I’m not very good on the phone and in email. And I really don’t like (or use) Facebook, but hopefully one day we’ll be living in the same city. Maybe Stockholm? Maybe Sydney? Actually, they’ll be in Sydney in February, which I’m looking forward to.
For the first time in a number of years I haven’t gone home for Christmas. This year I just didn’t feel like it. Also, I figured that since I took three months off work this year, it was my time to stay in Sydney and look after things at work. Thankfully, it hasn’t been too hectic, as the weather has remained fairly mild, and all was good, as I’d done a fair bit of preparation for the holiday period. And so as I approach 2014, there’s no sense of “end of year panic” for me, thankfully. It’s been a difficult year for my family in Lismore in many ways I won’t go into here. But on Christmas Day, as we did a Skype call together, things seemed to be a little more positive. Michelle is heading off on her first overseas holiday (aged 40) to Thailand. Karren is pregnant with her second child. Pat has now officially retired, and Nancy is in much better spirits after an operation to solve several years of pain. I’m desperately hoping things will be better in 2014.
For about a month this year, I got excited about the idea of doing some online dating. I’ve tried this before, concluding a lot of the gay dating sites are about sex hookups or are full of people with unrealistic expectations. I once did an internet date where I felt I was being “interviewed” for the position of boyfriend. Yeah, I know they work for a lot of people, but I haven’t had much success previously. So I tried rsvp. Once again, I’ve come to the conclusion “it’s not them, it’s me”, as I found myself pretty underwhelmed. I’m not very good at small chat, and that’s what I think you need to be able to start off with for internet dating. I’m concluding that, if I’m to meet someone, it’ll probably be through someone I know already, or maybe someone through work. Though I’m always reminded of a former manager who told me, “You don’t get your milk where you get your bread…” Think about it. Not that I’m desperate to meet someone.
My friend Michaela (with whom my friendship has deepened this year) and I have chatted about this a few times this year. We’re both in our 40s, both single. We’ve both noticed a lot of our friends who’ve recently partnered have begun to patronise us with statements about how we “Shouldn’t worry as we’ll soon meet someone”. Although I know what they’re saying – it gets increasingly harder to meet someone as you get older – I’ve concluded being in a relationship isn’t the be all and end all of my life. I’ve also reached the point where I’ve concluded I won’t have kids, and there’s a possibility I won’t have a relationship. But I’ve also concluded there are lots of other ways of living the second half of your life that don’t involve either. But hey, if Fred Nile can meet someone at eighty, there’s hope for the rest of us. :)
As I read back on these “Year In Review” posts over the last decade or so, I note there’s a theme. Each year it seems I write something about how terrible my life is (in some ways), and how fantastic it is (in other ways). The truth is – I have a truly blessed life. Although there are negative things which I reflect on (probably) far too much, there’s so much that’s good in my life. As I approach 2014, I think it’s time for me (finally) to stop reflecting on the negative and start thinking more about the positive, and to definitely avoid that 48 Crash that Suzi Quatro once sang about.
I turned 48 this year, and as Suzi Quatro reminds all of us celebrating their 48th birthday this year… crash crash, forty-eight crash.
This was before I started school, as we were still living in Kyogle Street. I'm guessing I was about 4-5 years old.
I played football or catchies or a combination of both with my five year old nephew this afternoon.
Well, I threw it to him so that he could catch it. And then he threw or kicked it back to me, which meant I had to run half-way around the yard as some of his hand-eye co-ordination skills are still developing.
He’s going to kindergarten at the moment, ahead of starting school next year. And thus, he still has the great innocence and joy of youth. He’s passed the terrible twos, but hasn’t reached the cynical sixes yet :)
Did I feel in any way clucky? Nah, as he’s quite the chatter-box. Believe me, a small amount of a five year old goes a long way.
I love his honesty though. My family have started to calling me “James” instead of Jimmy, which I’ve been known by for almost all of my adult life. “It’s Jimmy, not James” he keeps reminding them.
I guess they’ve come to a collective decision you can’t be a “Jimmy” when you’re 44 years old. I quite like, however, having a name that my family calls me that no one else does, except perhaps when they’re being sarcastic.
It’s part of that bond you have with your family, but not your friends. And equally you have a bond with your friends that you don’t have with your family.
So today, we just hung out. We watched some television. We went to the supermarket. I renewed my Worker’s Club Membership, we visited some relatives. Nothing much in particular, but rich in many ways.
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I also noticed that there were very few Swedes there. Most people were still at work, even though quite a few get to finish at lunch time the day before a holiday.
I also noticed that there were very few Swedes there. Most people were still at work, even though quite a few get to finish at lunch time the day before a holiday.