I think pretty much everyone in the room laughed in recognition, as Gene Sherman told the story about the promise she and her husband had made to each other. As she noted they had been married forty-seven years and were a family that “kept promises”, she went on to say they had agreed and promised to stop purchasing art. As they approach their 70s, they realised they had close to 900 works at various locations around Sydney, and that was probably enough for them to handle. Visiting Hong Kong, however, she came across the work “Chinese Bible” by Yang Zhichao, declaring it today “the greatest work in our collection”.
Chinese Bible by Yang Zhichao
And what a purchase! A collection of about 3,000 personal diaries from the time of China’s Cultural Revolution, currently on display at Sydney’s Sherman Gallery. Dr Geremie Barme from the Australian National University (who opened today’s exhibition) said the diary entries range from shopping lists to “careful thoughts”. He also noted it was often practiced during those years for people to burn their diaries, mindful they might fall into the hands of the authorities.
Chinese Bible by Yang Zhichao
As you enter the gallery, you’re immediately overwhelmed by the scale of the artwork. It took three days to lay them out carefully in order on specially prepared plinths, we were told today. And then you look more closely at the works, the beautiful covers, and wonder what’s inside. Twenty-five of the diaries have been translated into English, which you can read on computers at the back of the gallery.
Chinese Bible by Yang Zhichao
For me, this blog is like a diary, though nowhere as personal as something I might have written by hand and without thinking there would be a broader audience, preferring to keep my “darker thoughts” to myself. As I wandered home I thought about my own childhood diaries where I did just that. Sadly, they were washed away in the big Lismore flood of the late 1980s.
Although a lot has been written about the serious political content of their lyrics, I’ve always been far more moved by their melodies and beats.
Songs like “Power & The Passion” and “When The Generals Talk” appealed more to my “dance sensibilities” than most of their 1980s Australian rock contemporaries.
The lyrics of Midnight Oil songs are important, but it was the fact their choruses were easy to sing along to, and easy to dance to that has always appealed to me. I mean, what’s the point of having a message if you don’t easily communicate that to the audience?
Last night was the first time I’ve ever seen them perform a whole gig, and I was really impressed. Peter Garrett has a much stronger voice in concert than I’d anticipated. And even though his “dance moves” are perhaps a little slower / less frenetic than in his youth; aged 69, he still had a wonderful onstage presence. And I think I have developed a bit of a crush on Rob Hirst, as an energetic and passionate drummer.
Much of the earlier parts of the gig featured some of their newer works. I’ve heard a few of them on the radio, but there were a couple of songs they did from their album, “The Makarrata Project” that sounded appealing. I think I’ll investigate them further.
But it was their older, big chart hits like “Beds Are Burning”, “Power & The Passion” and “Short Memory” that got the strongest response. Great singalong tunes with meaningful lyrics.
Power & The Passion
Beds Are Burning
Though it was a “seated gig”, and the security guards tried to keep people in their seats, they eventually gave up, as the crowd got into the rhythm of things.
The crowd was a mixture of ages from the young couple in front of us for whom it seemed more like a “date” than a gig, to the 60-somethings who remember them from their youth. Peter Garrett called out the people who’ve “stuck with us through the years”.
There was a laugh-out-loud moment for me as I stood near the merchandise store, and saw a 60-something woman holding up a t-shirt on the chest of a 60-something man. “No, I think you’ll need a larger size Midnight Oil t-shirt this time around”, I overheard her say. Hey, ain’t that the truth?
During the show, Peter Garrett spoke passionately about the band’s ongoing, life-changing “connection” to the top end.
It was great that Darwin-based singer, Leah Flanagan joined them onstage as a backing vocalist, and as the “warm-up act”.
They clearly love this part of the world, and last night, we saw this part of the world loves them too.
I’m not one to “name drop”, but I will on this occasion. I smiled in recognition as former NSW Premier, Bob Carr and his wife Helena arrived at the Verona, today. “Hello Mr Carr”, I said, and we shook hands. I’m not 100% sure that he remembered my name, but he certainly remembered what I did for a living.
“How’s retirement?” I asked him, noticing that he was dressed very casually in a style my friend, Damien, later remarked looked like he was visiting a country electorate to make an announcement about drought funding. “Just great”, he told me, “Helena just noted that last year we went overseas seven times”.
Although retired, to my mind, Carr remains a political animal through and through, and that’s why it didn’t surprise me that he and Helena, like us, were there to see “The Last King Of Scotland”, the movie about Idi Amin. As I walked up the stairs, I noticed former Liberal advisor and spin doctor, Ian Kortlang was there too. Bob gave Ian a cheery hello, before moving on to say hello to some other people he obviously knew from his time in politics.
“It’s an interesting crowd. Not just the media. Aside from the media, who’s in the crowd?”, Damien asked me. “I don’t know”, I confessed, confused about the mixed group of people who’d assembled to see the movie. Young, old, gay, straight, black, white, asian. It was a mixed crowd who’d assembled to see a movie I’d only just heard about thanks to the Golden Clobe Awards. Clearly, it was a crowd interested in politics. I mean, why else, would you go to see a movie about Idi Amin. Neither Damien nor I had much idea about the film’s plot, although Damo had done a little research to understand more about the film’s title.
The title, “The Last King Of Scotland” has a dual role in this film, both describing the character of Nicholas Garrigan, the younger doctor who through chance ended up as a senior advisor to Idi Amin, and in describing Amin’s own interest in Scotland. Although I was alive during the reign of Idi Amin, I didn’t know about his interest in Scotland, manifest in the naming of his children and in the reasons why his troops wore kilts (for example) and why the young doctor in this film was welcomed so warmly by Amin. “If I wasn’t Ugandan, I’d be Scottish”, Amin declares.
The role of Nicholas, played James McAvoy (aka Spunky Nicholas) is a character I both liked and disliked. The film explains why he was genuinely seduced by Amin, both on a personal and intellectual level. however, there were occasions where his innocence was charming, and occasions where it was frustrating. How could he honestly not know what was going on? Well, he did, but he either chose to ignore it for the greater good, or he ignored it for his own self-preservation.
The actor who played Amin, Forrest Whittaker, was totally convincing. He effectively conveys the dual nature of Amin, as both beguilling and evil. His characterisation shows both why those around him, and the international media, were beguiled by Amin, but also the evil-ness, brought about it seems, through a paranoia or something like that. I have to admit though, that although he’s played many roles since, on occasion I kept remembering him as Jody from The Crying Game.
The only actor whose role I thought was disappointing was Gillian Anderson – Agent Scully – who added little to the film, except perhaps as a love interest. I didn’t even think her role as “conscience” for Nicholas was particularly effective, since he revealed himself to have that conscience.
The story of Nicholas is just amazing, the idea that a young Scottish doctor could end up so close to Amin, though later research has revealed the character of Nicholas is the composite of several real-life characters. Nonetheless, it’s a great story.
The film is genuinely funny, and at one point I found myself, uncomfortably thinking, “I shouldn’t be laughing at this”. The humour, however, is more than offset by the graphic violence. There was one occasion, for example, when I had to turn my head from the screen. The woman next to me had done the same, and later, my friend Damien had confessed that he’d avoided the screen during the scene also.
So in all, it provides, I think a good understanding of why Amin came to power, remained in power, and why he was so evil.
On an entirely different level, through the music and the landscape, the film also reveals a little about the people of Uganda. In common with Hotel Rwanda, this film makes you think about the people who were, themselves, victims of the colonial era. Looking for a solution to their economic woes, brought about through colonisation, it’s no wonder they looked to Amin. The film reveals him as a very seductive character, sprouting the nationalist rhetoric they obviously wanted to hear. But as the character played by Gillian Anderson observes, to the optimistic Nicholas, “They said the same about Obote” (Amin’s predecessor). Also in common with Hotel Rwanda, the film remins us about how uninmportant, tragically, Africa remained on the world stage. “You deserve to die”, someone tells Nicholas, “But go and tell the world about Amin, because they will believe you, because you are a white man”.
If I had a boyfriend, I would have come home tonight, opened the door at about 8.20 and would have at first, complained about the cold.
And then, as we chatted about our days, these are the three things I would have talked about.
I would have complained about the woman who I have known for a couple of years and who still can’t remember my name, and who still confuses my name for someone else’s.
I would have talked about going to the pub before Swedish class and listening in to the conversation of a nearby table. There were two blokes and a sheila. The conversation concerned “gays” and how they’re all “too obvious these days”, and yet they’re also, “too difficult to pick these days”.
And I would have talked about the bus accident that I was on this morning, caused by a “Cleveland Street runner”. “Cleveland Street runners” are those people who can’t wait for the traffic lights to change at the corner of Cleveland and Crown Streets, Surry Hills, or who can’t be bothered to walk up to the lights, preferring to cross at the nearby bus stop. A lot of the time they’re whacked of their heads on drug and alcohol, of course. Other times, it almost seems like they love the thrill of running in and out of traffic, or or stopping traffic.
I didn’t actually see this morning’s “Cleveland Street runner” who ran out in front of a 393 bus, but I saw the impact. The impact was a sudden step on the breaks by the driver which caused everyone to fall, but which sadly, knocked an older woman to the floor with a thud. She went down cold, and didn’t seem able to move. Thankfully, there were enough people on the bus with the experience to deal with such a situation, and so I’m hopeful she has recovered from the fall.
The “Cleveland Street runner” was nowhere to be seen, unfortunately. But in the unlikely opportunity that anyone who is a “Cleveland Street runner” is reading this blog, I hope this post comes as a realisation you’re not just potentially harming yourself when you run across Cleveland Street, you’re also potentially harming others.
So those are the three things that have happened in my life – aside from work today – which I would have talked about if I had a boyfriend.
But of course I don’t, so I’m sharing them here with you now.
Having previously braved the sometimes drunken crowds at Sydney’s nine pm and midnight fireworks, I’ve concluded it’s sometimes just as good to watch them on a television, which is what Graeme and I did last night.
In common with previous years when we have gone out for a drink on NYE, we had only one agreed rule: no cover charge. We both think it’s outrageous that ordinary pubs charge $25-30 just to enter on NYE, when they’re only offering their standard fare. “That’s good drinking money”, we both agreed, unconvinced that paying some public holiday penalties could possibly add so much to the price of a good night out.
Sydney Fireworks 2009-2010
And so we got to The Shift before 9.00 last night, before the cover charge kicked in. It was a nice enough night, as we sat, chatted, enjoyed the music, and watched the passing parade. “It’s kinda like being at a sushi train”, I joked to Graeme at one point, as we watched a number of people go round and round the bar looking for a good time. “It goes around and around, but eventually that tired old piece of tempura will get picked up by someone”, we both laughed, extending the analogy.
One of the great, unexpected things of the night was running into a guy called Greg, an ABBA fan neither of us had seen in probably a decade. He was one of the young “ABBA Gold” fans who was part of ABBAMAIL in the late 90s, and who used to travel down from Newcastle for those heady days of ABBA conventions. These days, he’s living and working in Broome, but still comes back occasionally for a bit of Sydney nightlife. It was genuinely lovely to see him, and to see that he’s happy and enjoying a rich, fulfilling life.
And from there we went to The Colombian which, unfortunately for them, has a lockout policy. Luckily, we arrived at four minutes to two and “just made it in”. When we arrived the place was packed. But due to the lockout, after an hour or so, the place was near empty as the bouncers were forced to deny entry to the many passers by who wanted to come in.
Touching hands, separated only by a window, some bouncers and a 2am lockout on Oxford Street.
In a scene reminiscent of ABBA’s video clip for “The Day Before You Came”, we re-enacted the moment where Agnetha and her partner hold hands to the window, symbolising the “pain” we felt for those friends trapped on either sides of an Oxford Street lockout with just a pain of glass and a security guard in between.
Speaking of ABBA and Sweden, and all that kind of thing, as we made our way along Oxford Street, there was another lovely unexpected moment when some random guy said to me, “Gott Nytt År”, in response to the Swedish t-shirt I was wearing. It’s Swedish for “Happy New Year”, of course.
Another unexpected highlight of the night was The Oxford. The crowd was in a very good mood, and didn’t appear to be “chemically enhanced” or drug, and the music was fun, accessible and happy. We’re both people watchers of course, and one particular highlight of the night was seeing two guys accidentally separated by the lockout policy, with one outside unable to find the other. We could see from the look on their faces each though they have been abandoned by the other. Thus, an intervention occured, as Graeme went outside and I stayed in, finally ensuring a reunion between the two. In years to come they’ll perhaps look back on the night and say they’re together thanks to “these two old blokes”.
Graeme and James keeping themselves nice.
Unfortunately, it also meant that WE got locked out too. But that was probably okay, as we were both in the mood for something different by this stage. And so ended up downstairs at The Exchange where we chatted with a lovely couple seated next to us. He was American, she was Dutch. “You’ve got a lovely city”, the Amercian bloke said, adding, “here’s to Sydney”. To which I responded, “here’s to New York”. We all laughed in agreement… The night ended as it started with Graeme and I sitting in identical seats to the ones we had met at Hungry Jacks. I had the same burger, Graeme the same chips. Life can have a lovely symmetry, can’t it? Several hours later both the crowd and Hungry Jacks itself were both looking a little worse for wear. “The toilets are disgusting”, Graeme told me. We, on the other hand were looking and feeling great, having steadily paced ourselves with lots of water in between beers.
It was a great way to spend NYE with such a good friend, totally comfortable in each other’s company, and on the lookout for each other. As Graeme and I walked up Oxford Street in the early hours of this morning, we came to an agreed conclusion: we had both managed to keep ourselves nice on New Years Eve. And that, of course, is reason to celebrate.
Allsang pa Skansen - the national Swedish sing-a-long program - during Europride.
So I went online this morning looking for ferry tickets from Stockholm to Tallin, based on the advice given to me in my dream yesterday by that nice Norwegian travel agent. I am sure he was right about the ferry being very nice and romantic and all that, and the woman at the youth hostel today told me something similar, but they were both wrong about one thing: the price.
As with other internal European flights, I’ve found it’s much better, cheaper and faster to fly than to sit on some dreary ferry or train for hours on end. I’ve realised at this point in my life that I’m someone who much prefers the destination and experience to the journey and the travel.
So I’m flying to Tallin next Wednesday morning and I’ve booked into – what seems on the internet – a reasonably modern and clean hostel. I’ve only booked three days at this stage, just in case it turns out to be terrible, or I get bored senseless.
That gives me about a week to squeeze everything in. And for most of that week, that means seeing some great Swedish music.
A case in point was going to Allsang pa Skansen again tonight. I went a couple of weeks ago for the rehearsal, but didn’t stay for the main show.
I arrived at about 5.30 and watched the remainder of the rehearsal, which included BWO, Bodies without Organs, performing “Lay Your Love On Me” which was terrific.
I then grabbed a beer and something to eat. I settled on a Swedish favourite, a meat ball and potato dish, along with a light beer. At half the price of a standard beer, and at 2.2% alcohol, I’ve found it’s been more than enough for me as I’ve travelled around Sweden.
But while getting the food, I saw another Swedish culinary creation which I couldn’t help but marvel at: chicken with nachos. I mean, last night I ate at a Thai restaurant where they had the chop-stick option (they don’t have chop-sticks in Thailand to the best of my knowledge), and it was pretty lame Pad Thai, with a Swedish salad on the side. And then I saw this bizzare combination tonight of a BBQ chicken drumstick (skin removed) on a plate with corn chips, guacomole and sour-cream. I think there’s an opening for an Australian celebrity chef on television here.
Bjorn Ulvaeus has Mamma Mia, Linda Ulvaeus has Steel Magnolias.
People fishing in the heart of Stockholm.
Grona Lund, Stockholm
Martin Rolinski from BWO rehearses at Allsang pa Skansen
Light beer and meatballs at Skansen.
Allsang pa Skansen – the national Swedish sing-a-long program – in rehearsal.
Allsang pa Skansen – the national Swedish sing-a-long program.
Martin Rolinski and BWO perform at Allsang pa Skansen
Allsang pa Skansen – the national Swedish sing-a-long program – during Europride.
BWO perform at Allsang pa Skansen
BWO perform at Allsang pa Skansen
Dagens Nyheter – Daily News, the Swedish newspaper.
By the time I finished my meal, the show was about ready to begin. Well, the pre-show warm up, which is about thirty minutes long before the program goes live to air.
As I’ve previously mentioned, the premise for the show is community singing. And it occurred to me that in a largely secular society, this is probably the modern manifestation of what used to occur in churches. Though instead they sing popular Swedish songs of the last fifty or sixty’years. There was one tonight about a “Flicka fran Smaland” (girl from Smaland, a beautiful region of Sweden), that probably has as much cultural currency in Sweden as, for example, “The Road To Gundagai”.
Tonight, however, also had a Europride theme. There were drag queens, comedy sketches with a gay-theme, and BWO who have written the theme song for Europride, “Bells Of Freedom”. As a song, I think it’s pretty lame, and not up to the usual standard. I’m pleased they also did another song for the tv show, and then one just for the audience at Skansen.
And what an audience it was. Thousands and thousands of people. Most of them incredibly tall. The third tallest nation on earth, after Norway and Holland, apparently. And most with children on their shoulders, making it a little hard for me to see sometimes. And if it wasn’t the kids on dad’s shoulders, it was a bunch of poofs with rainbow flags :)
I was really pleased to see BWO live. They have great fun songs and the crowd really loved them. Martin Rolinski, the lead singer, is also surprisingly good looking. He was always a bit blonde and bland for my taste, but then I saw him in real life. and was quite impressed. The woman in the band also looks like a real hoot, and you see more of her personality live on stage than you do in the clips. Alexander Bard is… well… Alexander Bard.
Allsang is a really great show and I wish we had something like this in Australia. Of course, our TV execs would turn it into a reality show of some sort, and you’d have SMS voting and all the associated crap. I think it’s a bit like Countdown was for us back in the 70s, something a bit daggy, but also a bit fun the whole family could enjoy together.
Anyhoo I better get some sleep as Europride starts in force tomorrow. Tomorrow night, I’m seeing ABBA cover band, Arrival. I’m told they’re the best ABBA cover band going.
My niece told me she had to summon up all her courage to tell me halfway through the year that my lower right leg had been amputated. I had been in an induced coma for several days and was still heavily sedated, so, in all honesty, I don’t remember the conversation or my immediate reaction.
Pretty quickly, I remembered my grandmother, with whom I grew up, had a diabetes-related amputation as well. I’ve also noted that in 2022, my family had nearly drowned in the Lismore flood. Only a few weeks earlier, I met some people in Cambodia who had amputations due to landmines.
Without the privilege that comes from living in a wealthy country with a great medical system and surrounded by a fantastic network of family and friends, I’ve tried to look on the bright side of what happened to me earlier this year. I’m incredibly grateful to be alive, and to have had all the wonderful support I’ve enjoyed. Many others would not have been so lucky.
As Elton John once sang, “I’m Still Standing”.
There have been a couple of days when I’ve been a little “down.” In both cases, it was due to fatigue more than a any kind of depression about becoming a “person with disability”.
On my first night home after a few months in the hospital, I also shed a few tears. Thankfully, a good friend was with me that night and provided me with great reassurance. Looking back on the situation now, I have to laugh. I was in my own bed, and a tap in the ensuite was dripping. Knowing to stop it, I would first need to get up and put on my prosthetic limb was all too much for me. “You’ve been so good throughout this. You’ve been the model patient. You need to stop worrying about how everyone will respond and just be in the moment,” I remember my friend saying.
At the end of 2023, the response and reaction of friends, family, and colleagues remain higher on my list of concerns than any negative feelings I’ve had myself. Sure, the change is associated with the classic “stages of grief” (denial, anger, acceptance, etc.), which a couple of people have said I’ve gone through “too quickly.” That is to assume a linear approach to the theory, whereas I know at any time I could lapse into a period of negativity.
But what’s the point? Millions of people around the world are in a far more desperate situation than I am, and besides, there is so much to be grateful for this year, including participation in Mardi Gras/World Pride a wonderful two-week vacation to Vietnam and Cambodia with two wonderful friends.
Group tour, visiting Angkor Wat
I also had some wonderful time with my family. They’ve come to visit me in Sydney, and I’ve been home to Lismore on a couple of occasions.
As 2023 comes to an end, it’s great being home with my family. After all they’ve been through since the flood almost two years ago, things are looking good as they approach 2024, and hopefully, moving into new accommodation. It will be tough for them in many ways, as they’ve lived in their house since 1968, but now they’re in their 70s and 80s, having somewhere new, modern, and with greater comforts will hopefully make their remaining years a little easier.
Crossing the Sydney Harbour Bridge with the incomparable Manda Hatter at Sydney “World Pride”
As the year comes to an end, I’m thinking about what 2024 has in store. Work has changed quite a bit. The approach to the area of ABC Radio I’ve been looking after changed quite dramatically while I was in the hospital. It was only when I returned part-time to work in November that it became apparent to me. So far, and I’m not 100% sure of what my job will be like in 2024. But in the grand scheme of things, I remain positive that I still have a job, a generous amount of personal (sick) leave up my sleeve, and colleagues who have been supportive with wishes, gifts, and understanding.
The greatest lesson I’ve learned in recent years, and which I’ve been trying to convince family and friends of, is the need to stop for a moment, don’t think too much about what might happen, accept it, and get on with your life. As I’ve lived through the experiences of 2023, I’ve been extremely conscious of the depressive impact of negativity. The whole “glass half full/empty” thing has been a recurrent theme for me this year. Chatting with people recently, I’ve heard too much about all the terrible things that MIGHT happen and not enough about the good things that COULD happen.
As the year comes to a close, my heartfelt message to both myself and to you is to savor the positive moments and express gratitude for the blessings surrounding us. While this may not be a groundbreaking revelation, it’s a sentiment that many individuals like us, who lead privileged lives, might not always do enough.
