Have just been to see a preview of Destination Arnold, a soon to be shown on ABC-TV documentary, produced by my friend, Michaela Perske. I never thought I’d be interested in the world of female bodybuilding, but it was absolutely brilliant. I cared about the women involved, and loved the honesty of the emotions and experiences they shared.
http://www.pursekey.com.au/destination-arnold-two-girls-one-dream/
Over the weekend, I had the pleasure of interviewing Robert ‘Tiny’ Holly for The Limb Shift, my podcast dedicated to limb loss and limb difference. After losing both legs to complications from diabetes, Tiny’s perspective is profound. This is a preview of his story ahead of our podcast launch this October.
Robert “Tiny” Holly is a man whose life story is defined by resilience, rapid-fire wit, and an unshakeable ability to find the silver lining in even the most challenging circumstances.
A prominent Western Australian livestock auctioneer, Tiny has navigated profound physical and mental health trials, yet he speaks about his journey with a candid, grounded humour that disarms and inspires those facing their own battles.
Reflecting on a time when his weight reached a peak of 174.4 kilograms, Tiny humorously describes his former physical state: “I become weight for age from six to twenty seven. So that f you ask me what weight I was at fifteen, I’ll say fifteen stone. At twenty one, I was twenty one. At twenty seven, I was twenty seven stone”.
“I love food” he says. “Mum and Nan were great cooks. I just powered through it and loved every mouthful, and probably didn’t really realize what was going on”.
However, the reality of his health became impossible to ignore: “When I started sweating when I was eating and sweating when I was doing up my laces and putting my boots on and that I thought, well, maybe it’s time to doing something”.
His journey took a dramatic turn with the diagnosis of diabetes, a condition he initially struggled to accept.
Following a series of infections triggered by a sunburned toe in 2019, Tiny faced a life-altering decision. After losing several toes and being advised by some doctors that they could attempt to salvage his foot, Tiny took a pragmatic approach.
He recalls, “I asked them to cut my leg off and give me a wooden leg and I could go and do everything that I was doing, which was fine. But there was two doctors in there that were for it and two doctors against it. So I said, I’m the chairman and the fifth vote, so let’s chop it off”.
Remarkably, he describes the amputation as “one of the best things I ever did,” noting that it paradoxically helped his mental health. Having lived with clinical depression for nearly twenty-nine years, Tiny explains that focusing on his physical rehabilitation allowed him to channel his energy positively. “I said to my psych after I lost the first leg, if I hadn’t known what this leg was going to do, I would have chopped them off thirty years ago because it took everything away almost from my head and put it onto my legs”.
Despite the challenges, Tiny remains a man of action. He maintains a busy schedule, balancing his paid work, his charity auction work—where he has raised millions—with his love for golf.
For Tiny, golf has become more than just a pastime; it is a vital component of both his physical rehabilitation and his mental well-being. His approach to the game is defined by a pragmatic acceptance of his new physical limits:
“I reckon I’m a better golfer now than than when I finished [before the amputations]”. He explains that he adjusted his technique, noting, “I know now my limits, probably one hundred and eighty metres best up.”
His improvement has been so significant that his golf handicap dropped from thirty-six following his surgeries down to twenty, and he jokes that he became the “most hated person at the club for a while because I kept winning”.
To accommodate his mobility, Tiny uses a specialized golf buggy, which he notes is a “tremendous” aid for both his legs and his mental health. He has also made minor custom modifications to his equipment, such as adding an extension to his putter because he cannot easily bend down the “four or five inches to pick the ball up” without losing his balance.
Beyond the mechanics of the game, the social environment of the golf club has provided Tiny with a vital support network, and he describes the simple act of being out on the course as “tremendous” for his mental health.
Looking to the future, Tiny is focused on continuing his charitable efforts and sharing his story to help others.
His advice is a testament to his outlook: “There’s always light at the end of the tunnel. You know, it might be very, very faint, but it’s there. And if you ask the right questions and have your support base right, you’ll get to that light and all of a sudden it’ll be bright again”.
https://www.linkedin.com/in/tiny-holly-039936225
“It’s a gay day here in Stockholm”, we were told by the nice bloke on the tour-boat this afternoon. Even though the boat was mostly full of Swedish mums, dads and kids, it was a way, I think of making me and the American bloke feel welcome also. “For twenty years or so, we have been very open about a lot of things in Sweden, including sexuality”, he continued, making that welcome seem very genuine, with nothing tokenistic about it all. The buses here in Stockholm are flying rainbow flags, there are rainbow flags near the Royal Palace, and the department store, NK, has dedicated their shop windows to gay and lesbian-themed displays. Although the main action happens next week, Europride in Stockholm began officially today.
And what a beautiful day it was, too. A perfect day for a tour called the “Archipelago Race” which I would highly recommend. The staff were friendly, the tour guide well-informed, and there was a genuine sense of joy amongst those taking part. In essence, it’s a tour around the outskirts of the island of Lidingo. But because the island is so large, you really get to see a lot of the inner parts of the archipelago. And as the boat is a reasonably fast and small one, you can skip through the boring bits, and really get into some of the nooks and crannies of the archipelago.
Along the way, we were shown Bjorn Borg’s former villa, and given a vague direction that Bjorn Ulvaeus from ABBA lived on one of the more exclusive islands we went past. And closer to Stockholm we went past the site of the planned ABBA Museum, which the guide told us would be very expensive to enter. “Interesting”, I thought to myself, wondering if that’s how it’s viewed by ordinary locals. And the people doing the tour seemed like honest, genuine, ordinary locals too, telling us where bucks parties are held and such, as well as the more traditional tourist information. The tour guide also explained some of the history of the archipelago, about how workers would rent out their houses in summer to the wealthy people of Stockholm. She also explained a little of the history of the dominant colour schemes of Swedish housing – red and yellow – as colours which would appear to be like bricks and stones.
It was a perfect day for a trip around the archipelago. The temperature was about mid 20s and there was a light breeze as we travelled around. I noticed the other single bloke on the boat was sweating a bit. “It must be his first day”, I thought to myself. After a few days of warm weather, I’m finding myself a little more aclimatized now.
I thought I might get out of Stockholm for a bit on the weekend. There’s a few nearby towns and cities which can be reached easily by fast train, so I thought I might do a day trip or two. And then on Sunday night, I’ve got a ticket for the Peter Joback/Eva Dahlgren concert at Skansen. I’m hoping for great weather, a night outdoors listening to some great music, and then maybe a drink or two afterwards.
There was a sole newspaper sitting on the cafe bench on Saturday morning. It looked barely touched—still holding those crisp, familiar folds from when it was first pulled from its plastic wrapping. It sat there abandoned, a relic in the morning light, while around me, the cafe hummed with a different kind of silence. Everyone else was glued to their screens, scrolling through news or whatever else occupied their digital lives. It’s hard to know what they were looking at, really.
I was planning to travel down to Wollongong to record an episode of The Limb Shift, and I’ve realised how much I love these trips into nearby regions. Whether it is heading north through the Hawkesbury or slipping south to Wollongong through the beautiful, dense forests around Waterfall, the journey itself is a reward.
On the train ride home yesterday, my attention was caught by a couple—likely in their mid-to-late 70s—sitting opposite me. They were immersed in a physical copy of the Sydney Morning Herald.
It instantly transported me back to years of my own weekends, sitting with friends in a cafe, spreading the sections across the table, trading pages, and settling into a routine that lasted for hours.
I don’t consume the papers that way anymore. While I still maintain a subscription to the Herald, I read the digital replica format on my tablet, early in the morning, usually by myself. I do appreciate that curated, page-by-page view, but there was something profoundly refreshing about seeing that couple on the train. They held such serious expressions, clearly absorbed in the weight of the day’s headlines, while I, if I’m honest, am often more inclined toward the trivial.
It highlighted a growing frustration of mine: how tethered we have become to our devices at the expense of the world around us. It is remarkable—and frankly alarming—how many people walk through life with their heads tilted downward. In my own neighbourhood, I constantly see people crossing busy streets while fixated on their screens, never even glancing up to check for traffic.
As someone who uses a mobility scooter, this hits close to home. It is immensely frustrating to have people walk straight into me, only to offer a mumbled, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Well, perhaps if you weren’t looking at your phone while crossing the road, I think to myself, though I rarely say it aloud. Maybe I should.
Earlier this week on the light rail, I saw someone reading a physical book, and it struck me again how rare that sight has become. Like newspapers, I’ve moved to a tablet, but there was a lovely, tactile quality to seeing what someone else was engaging with.
When someone is buried in a phone or tablet, they are a closed book; you have no way of knowing what has captured their imagination. A physical book, or a newspaper, invites a shared, communal experience. It offers a tiny, welcome window into the world around us—and that, I think, is exactly what we are missing.
Three years ago – exactly – I was in Iceland. The Google Photos app on my phone reminded me of that this morning, presenting me with a lovely collection of photographs from a memorable week I spent there. It was terrific to revisit the glaciers, the hot baths, the volcanoes, the landscape (etc) on exactly the same day my friend Sue and I had planned to see the Icelandic film “Hrutar” (known in English as “Rams”).
Yes, sheep. The film is set in a small farming community in Iceland, and focuses on the relationship of two estranged brothers, Gummi and Kiddi who live side by side, tending their individual sheep, but who haven’t spoken in decades.
However, they’re forced to interact when a rare sheep disease is discovered, meaning the entire sheep population of the area has to be destroyed. For everyone in the area, there’s a direct economic impact. For these two brothers, there’s a strong emotional element, too, due to their joint history wrapped up in the blood-stock.
To avoid spoilers, I won’t go any further into the detail of the film. But in many ways, it wouldn’t matter if I did: though there’s a fair bit of action in the film, it’s very much a psychological film.
And as much as the film is very much about the relationship between the brothers, it’s also about the future of small farming communities. I remember when I visited Iceland, being told that in the wake of the eruption of the volcano, Eyjafjallajökull, farmers had the option of returning a couple of years later. In the end, many of them decided it wasn’t worth it, and that’s what happens in this film too.
The pacing is slow, and so if you like your movies full of action, this isn’t the film for you. But I really enjoyed it. Heart-warming. Yes, that’s the word to describe it.
Oh, and the scenery is just as I remembered it three years ago. Stunning.
P.S. Stay for the credits. Iceland has a unique naming system where everyone is either a son or a dottir. When you see all of those names appearing on screen together, it’s a little sureal.
It’s warm, it’s humid, it’s Thursday and I’m back briefly in Lismore. For a while earlier today, for the first time since I’ve been home, the humidity threatened to turn into actual rain, but unfortunately nothing eventuated. The dark clouds that earlier hovered over what was Lismore Post Office have turned to blue. It’s funny, isn’t it, how I still think of it as the Post Office, even though the post office functions moved out maybe twenty years ago.
And it’s not just the Post Office that’s changed. I’ve just had lunch, for example, with some friends at a new Italian place that’s recently opened on Keen Street. Lunch was great, the conversation was great, but in the back of my mind was a memory of the newsagent that used to be in the building.
As I wander around Lismore every person, every building, every location seems to remind me of something from my past. Unfortunately, not always good memories. You see a building, a place, a person, and something awful comes to mind. Maybe it’s something about human nature, or maybe it’s just me, or maybe it’s just that because I’ve been away for such a long time, it’s only the very intense memories that remain. Like music and smells, it’s amazing how buildings, in particular, can evoke strong memories.
This is particularly the case with my “family home”. This was the house that my dad’s parents lived in, and then mum and dad, and then mum’s mother and uncle. It was also the house in which I was born and raised. But for various “family reasons”, it’s a house I haven’t stepped foot in for almost twenty-five years. With the recent death of my uncle who has been living there, and it’s purchase by a second-cousin it almost feels like its a family home again. A sign, perhaps, that 2007 will be a year in which contact with my family will be extremely important.
The most distressing and direct reasons for this is that my sister is quite ill, suffering with both Parkinson’s Disease and Dementia. She’s had the Parkinson’s for a few years now, but the Dementia has only recently developed. Along with my other two sisters, my niece and her son, I drove to Brisbane yesterday to visit her in the nursing home in which she’s currently living. While at times she’s coherent, there are other times when she struggles. Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m not sure, she’s aware of the ways in which her mind and body are failing, and she sometimes becomes upset with herself for not remembering things. Please say a prayer, if you’re so inclined.
The first time I became aware of one of the nurses wiping my bum, I was still on a lot of pain relief medication. At its most basic level, I had to roll onto a bed pan, do my business, and then ask one of the nurses to come to clean me up.
My friends and I had joked about needing assistance later in life to “wipe each other’s arses,” but I never imagined it becoming a reality in my late 50s.
During those early moments of arse-wiping, I expressed my embarrassment to one of the nurses, to which they kindly advised me to “just go with the flow.” At that point, I realized I had no other option but to accept the situation and adopted this mindset.
Surprisingly, as time went on, I found that I shed the usual self-consciousness I had about people seeing my genitals. The medical staff have undoubtedly encountered their fair share of private parts, and it became evident that their focus was purely on providing compassionate care rather than any curiosity about my personal anatomy.
In the past few weeks, I’ve had to adjust to a new routine, where meals and ablutions occur at consistent times every day. Due to mobility challenges, I still require assistance to get to and from the toilet and shower, but I’m making progress each day, and I’m hopeful that within the next week, I’ll be able to manage those tasks independently.
Apart from daily routines, there are also regular blood glucose and blood pressure checks, along with insulin injections that are part of my current medical regimen.
Despite the challenges, I have been fortunate to be under the care of the remarkable nursing staff at St. Vincent’s Hospital, and now at Sacred Heart Rehabilitation. Their dedication and support have been truly exceptional and have played a significant role in my recovery.
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James
The link you provided does not quite work.
I got to http://www.pursekey.com.au/destination-arnold-two-girls-one-dream/%EF%BB%BF
but “Page not Found”.
Thanks Ken. On my way to work, so will update shortly.
James
Please scratch that comment. I have no explanation for this but as I was uploading it, the comment page turned to the Destination Arnold page before my very eyes! Bizarre.
On a not entirely unrelated note, on two occasions in the past several years, after clicking on an hyperlink I have received ABC local radio twice!
Incidentally, I found that Syms Covington, who was Charles Darwin’s assistant during the Beagle voyage became postmaster at Pambula. I looked for a connection to Love descendants but did not find one.
Glad to hear it’s working, but some weird stuff. Wondering if it’s to do with cached sites.