Admit it, you have to say “Mr Crackles” sounds like a pretty dodgy name for somewhere to buy food. “Mr Crackles” sounds too much like “Mr Bubbles” who was an (in)famous paedophile in Australia, especially since it’s located on Sydney’s Oxford Street.
In contrast, I’d heard very good things about “Mr Crackles” on Oxford Street, Sydney but had never consumed anything from there.
It was not the greatest crackling I’ve ever had, but pretty good after a couple of beers.
I have been dealing today with a government agency requiring photo ID for an older family member, impacted by the disaster in Lismore. He’s now too old for a driver’s licence and has never been overseas, so he has no passport. To get a replacement birth certificate, he requires a photo id. To get a photo id, he requires a birth certificate. Yes Minister.
I have explained to them he lost EVERYTHING in the flood. There’s NOTHING left. It’s now up to the manager to decide if they can accept the application without a photo ID.
Should I explain this is the only photo ID we have?
There have been a few moments of frustration over the last few weeks, dealing with bureaucracy in both the public and private sectors.
Memorably, I have spoken with a couple of agencies who told me I should “go into their branch in Lismore”. “But you have no branch in Lismore”, I’ve told them. “Apparently we’ve set up a temporary branch” they’ve told me, on checking the computer. “No, that was washed away in the second flood”, I’ve replied.
Others have been awesome. For example, I spoke yesterday with someone from Lismore City Council about getting a copy of a rates notice, also washed away in the flood. We need this to apply for some government support. The person on the phone was wonderful and provided some advice about how we might need to deal with things in the future.
Lismore floods have taught me power of attorney is one thing, but also important is to be able to speak on behalf of older family members before that’s required. This is especially the case with technology-based companies like phones/internet, where it’s ASSUMED everyone has everything online and doesn’t still live in a world of paper.
Despite these setbacks, there have been some moments of joy.
I LOVE some recently unearthed photographs of Gloria from the early-mid 60s. Likely before/around the time I was born. South Lismore.
Gloria washing her feet in the tubs at 21 Kyogle Street. A packet of Rinso is nearby. Can you still buy Rinso?
And it was awesome to see today this has won the Archibald Prize. Lismore artist, Karla Dickens, as painted by Blak Douglas. Both are wonderful artists, and great to see Lismore getting a mention again. Friends commented (dark humour) that the flood waters were much deeper
I just saw Adam/Blak on ABC TV, and he said the leaking buckets were about artists losing income to galleries, curators etc.
“At my funeral, can you take a photograph instead of having a guestbook?”, I asked my friend Sue on the weekend. “It’s always so hard thinking of what to say”, I added, noting it would be far more interesting and far easier just to take a photograph of everyone. The photograph of those attending the funeral of Martin Sharp was one of my favourites in this year’s “Art and About” “Australian Life” photographic competition.
Yes, “Australian Life” not “Sydney Life” as it has always been. The other addition this year was a separate photographic exhibition for children. “The composition of some of these photographs is really amazing”, Sue noted as we wandered around looking at the photographic work of children. “Most of my photographs from that time feature too much sky and lots of chopped off heads”, I noted.
Even with the changes this year, the photographic competition remains one of my favourite part of the annual “Art and About” project in Sydney. Although I thought there were a few photographic cliches this year, I still really loved the competition, and have shared with you, in situ, my favourites from this year’s competition.
When Mitch Grant was 21 years old, his life took a sudden, irreversible turn. Just ten minutes after the New Year’s Eve fireworks, a motorbike accident on Lane Cove Road resulted in the loss of his left leg and a severe injury that left his left arm completely without function. Reflecting on his journey, Mitch stresses that recovery was never purely a physical battle. Instead, it was defined by a series of critical, paradigm-shifting conversations—some with family, some with strangers, and others with fellow amputees—that ultimately transformed his perspective from despair to purpose.
In the immediate aftermath of the trauma, Mitch underwent emergency surgery and was placed in an induced coma for four days to allow his body to stabilize, followed by four and a half weeks in the intensive care unit. Because of his heavy medication and fluctuating state, he struggled to retain information, forcing his parents into an agonizing cycle of repetition.
As Mitch recalls, “I would ask them, what am I doing here? Where am I… And then they’d have to tell me that I’ve had a motorbike accident. I’ve lost my leg… they had to do that three or four times a day for like three and a half, four weeks. To this day that still brings both my parents in tears when they talk about it”.
Recognizing the immense toll his condition was taking on his support network became his initial catalyst for internal strength. He realized he had two choices: succumb to depression and substance abuse, dragging his loved ones down with him, or resolve to “get up and get on with it”.
The true turning point occurred several weeks later on the hospital ward. After a highly distressing incident involving a bedpan—an experience that shattered his youthful sense of invincibility—Mitch retreated into a dark, isolated headspace. He pushed his parents away and refused visitors.
However, a desperate request from a nurse shortly after this low point changed everything. A 13-year-old boy in the adjacent room had recently lost his hand in a car accident and was struggling so heavily that he had been placed on suicide watch. Despite his initial reluctance, and questioning what a 21-year-old leg amputee could offer a young boy who had lost a hand, Mitch agreed to be wheeled into the room.
Their initial interaction was awkward and mostly silent, but Mitch left a standing fan in the boy’s room to help him cope with the summer heat. The following day, the boy requested Mitch return, sparking a genuine connection. Mitch notes, “We actually had a conversation for about an hour. We didn’t talk about being an amputee. We didn’t talk about our accident… We spoke about footy, spoke about school… We just spoke totally about random things, a lot about sport”. The boy was discharged shortly after, leaving behind a brief note of profound gratitude.
The impact of that simple exchange left a lasting impression on Mitch, who says, “And that was when I sort of realized, okay, it’s just a conversation, right? We didn’t have to talk about being an amputee… It was literally just a simple conversation. And it… helped me as much as I helped him… I realized the power of a voice and a story”. This human breakthrough proved that they did not need to dissect their shared traumas to provide mutual mental clarity.
Before the accident, Mitch was an apprentice carpenter. While his missing leg was manageable, the loss of function in his left hand made continuing in the trade unviable. Refusing to remain stationary, he shifted gears completely.
Alongside his father, he opened a gym franchise, hoping to create an inclusive community space where able-bodied and disabled individuals could train together.
His trajectory shifted once again when his mother relentlessly urged him to look into a revolutionary socket-free procedure known as osseointegration. After witnessing the fluid mobility of pioneering patient and Paralympian Brendan Burkett, Mitch chose to undergo the surgery. It eliminated the daily pain and instability of traditional sockets, making putting on his leg “as simple as putting on a pair of shoes”. This milestone led Mitch to volunteer as a global advocate for the procedure, eventually transitioning into his current primary career as a distributor of advanced prosthetic technology across Australia.
Holding a prosthetic arm and standing in front of some boxes of the many prosthetics he now distributes.
Through his global travels, Mitch has met individuals who continually reshaped his definition of resilience. One such figure was Michael Swaine, a British military veteran who lost both legs to an improvised explosive device (IED). Visiting Swaine in the United Kingdom provided Mitch with a sharp dose of perspective when Swaine insisted they walk to a local park with his young children and dog rather than take the car. Mitch remembers the interaction clearly: “He’s goes, ‘Where are you going?’ I go, ‘To the car.’ … And then he’s clicked and he’s gone, ‘You lazy bastard… You’re only missing one leg. I’m missing two.’ … This guy, he’s got two young kids… and a dog and he’s missing two legs and he’s taking the kids down the street to the park. Like, just blew my mind”.
Years later, when Mitch welcomed his own child, the memory of that conversation and the security provided by his osseointegration surgery gave him the absolute confidence to carry his infant safely. Ultimately, Mitch views his entire trajectory not as a tragedy, but as a series of open doors. He remains driven by the fundamental belief that sharing an average, relatable story can completely alter someone else’s outlook. For Mitch, recovery is defined entirely by one’s mindset, concluding that “It’s a big mental game. It’s gotta start with you. It’s not a physical game”.
Note: The audio from this conversation with Mitch will appear in the Limb Shift podcast launching in October, and which will be available on this website, Spotify, YouTube & Apple Podcasts.
“Funky ABBA” by Nils Landgren, featuring ABBA songs in the style of those 1970s funk bands like “Parliament”, and “P Funk”. Ironically, the tracks I enjoyed most are those which least resemble the originals, such as Money, Money Money, SOS and Knowing Me, Knowing You. I think that where they’ve stuck closely to the originals the tracks sound a little odd with the exception of Voulez Vous which sounds good. SOS is my favourite. And of course, I love When All Is Said & Done… gorgeous… due to its dramatic qualities, very musical theatre, it made me realise it should have been included in Mamma Mia somewhere.
I’ve never really been one for the “sit on the beach/read a book” style of vacation. Generally, I like to go somewhere interesting, discover as much as I can about the place, and hopefully get to chat with some new and interesting people.
But having enjoyed a wonderful holiday in China, I opted to take an extra week’s annual leave to stay at home in Sydney for a “staycation”. In the back of my mind, there were still plans to get out and about: to visit galleries, go walking, cycling etc. But the reality, I’m slightly ashamed to say, has been staying at home, getting out of bed late, watching a bit of catch-up television, and little else.
I’m philosophical, though, since I think your body is usually the best guide to what you should do. If you’re feeling sick, I always think it’s far preferable to have a cup of tea, go to bed and sleep for as long as you can, rather than take pharmaceuticals. I’m guessing the inner-sloth in me took over and for the last week my body has said rather clearly, “just relax”.
Still I got up earlyish this morning in preparation for a return to work tomorrow.
As you can see from the tree: winter has most certainly arrived in Sydney, and despite being woken by the awful noise of these rather ugly birds (the ones you normally find hanging out around garbage bins), it was still a rather nice view to be greeted by.
Here’s to a lovely mild Sydney winter.
Winter has arrived in Sydney (as you can see from the tree); it’s my last day of holidays (back to work tomorrow); and these are very ugly noisy birds you normally find on top of garbage bins; but this was still a rather nice image to wake up to earlier this morning.
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I love the crackling here, but sometimes, there’s still hairs on it and that freaks me out :P
I love the crackling here, but sometimes, there’s still hairs on it and that freaks me out :P